


Drinking From an Empty Cup

by yumi_michiyo



Category: Glee
Genre: "Romance", Alternate Universe, Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Humor, In which they're both cheerleading coaches, Romance, Romantic Comedy, The monster oneshot from hell, cheer!au, they're both idiots really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:14:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26382478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yumi_michiyo/pseuds/yumi_michiyo
Summary: Coaching college cheerleading isn't exactly what Rachel Berry would have imagined for herself, but she's happy. Now, if only the coach of rival cheerleading team, the Cheerios, didn't hate her... Cheer!AU. Faberry. Complete.
Relationships: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray
Comments: 13
Kudos: 151





	Drinking From an Empty Cup

**Author's Note:**

> This was almost 3 years in the making; abandoned countless times, major reworking here, minor crises there. About par for the course with my Faberry, really. 
> 
> Title comes from Damien Rice's _The Animals Were Gone_ : _'Cause waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup_. Extended author's notes, meta, and musings on the fic can be found on [my Tumblr](https://yumi-michiyo.tumblr.com/post/628841199727525888/drinking-from-an-empty-cup-11). All thanks go to _**Mike Ownby**_ , whose Americanization efforts this time around extended to getting the cheerleading terminology right, and who valiantly struggled through the editing, reading, and annotating of this 25k+ monster.

"Okay, guys!" Rachel calls, clapping her hands to get their attention. "I think we can get another full-out in before we call it a day, alright?"

There are nods and assorted "yeah"s from the crowd, as well as the expected undertone of grumbling. All in all, a good response; Rachel beams at them.

"You're crazy," Kurt says from beside her.

"I am not crazy, Kurt," retorts Rachel tightly. "I am very, very dedicated to winning. I've come up with our master plan for Nationals this year, and I expect a good chance of victory if we adhere to the plan."

Kurt shakes his head. "And working the kids to the bone is part of the plan?"

"You exaggerate. They're hardly worked to the _bone_ ; past skin, some muscle fiber maybe." Rachel doesn't wait for his reply, raising her voice and addressing her cheerleaders. "Is everyone ready?"

One of her flyers, a slim brunette named Marley, flashes her a thumbs-up. Rachel nods at her, but she casts a critical eye over the starting formation just in case. Everyone is where they were supposed to be; no one is crying, gasping for breath, or bleeding. They are ready.

Rachel hits the music, counting off the beats in her head.

Twenty bodies move as one on cue, and Rachel grins, knowing the opening sequence is perfect. She knows Kurt is holding his breath beside her. Rachel turns to him, and mouths, _they got this._

He casts her a skeptical look, but nods and relaxes.

Rachel watches intently as the cheerleaders' formation splits into two down the middle, making room for her tumblers to somersault effortlessly down, and she claps. "Well done, Jake!" Rachel calls, genuinely proud. He had been struggling with the routine, and Rachel is glad that he seems to have gotten the hang of it.

The towers form. Her choreography this year is ambitious, but Rachel watches, delighted, that her kids had risen to the challenge – quite literally. She clasps her hands together, watching with bated breath, as the girls on top of the pyramid lift their arms and hold the pose. One, two, three…

The flyers fall backwards smoothly as one, and are caught by the bases, who set them on their feet. Rachel can't hold back the excited squeal that escapes her. "Yes, guys!" She reaches for Kurt's hand, squeezing it tight as she watches her kids shine.

Her other star tumbler, Ryder, executes a series of flips across the mat – and then stumbles over his landing. Rachel winces, but her face quickly smooths over; he recovers well, and there's no reason to stop the routine. "Good try!" she calls.

The music fades out as the team holds their ending pose. "Great job, guys!"

The perfect formation dissolves as the cheerleaders explode in a riot of excitement. "Drink up!" Rachel yells, making sure she could be heard over all the noise. "Get your water bottles, and huddle up."

Turning to Kurt, she asks: "Did you get all that?"

He checks the GoPro set up on a tripod, and nods. "We got it all."

"Fantastic."

Kurt gives her a little approving nod. "This is a really good routine, Rachel. One of your best so far."

"You think? I thought it was a little too technically demanding for some of them." She nods at Ryder, who was being comforted by some of the other tumblers. "Ryder's good, but he's still a freshman. He's putting himself under a lot of pressure." Rachel chews on her lower lip. "... Maybe I should get someone else to do the stunt. Matt, maybe; or Mike. It's not too late to make the switch."

Kurt dismisses her concerns with a squeeze to her arm. "He'll be fine." He nods at the circle of cheerleaders around Ryder. "Look at them. They believe in him; he won't let them down. Trust him."

Rachel purses her lips, but nods at last. She claps her hands; her cheerleaders finish up what they're doing and sit on the mat, waiting for Rachel.

"First of all, I wanna say you guys did a great job today." Rachel pauses. "Kurt and I know what a winning team looks like, and we can safely say you guys are looking great. That's good, guys," she says, raising her voice to be heard over the whoops that had broken out, "but that's not the most important thing. I can see all of you looking out for each other, and that's what we're looking for. Even when you've graduated and gone, that bond will stay with you for life."

She nods at Kurt, his cue to speak.

"That was great, guys. But," says Kurt. He has to raise his voice to be heard amidst the groans that ripple through the cheerleaders. "But! Nationals isn't here yet. The hard part is pulling off perfection until we're standing on that stage. But we _are_ on our way to zero-hit, guys." Kurt pauses to let the thought sink in; achieving zero-hit, that coveted stage where their routine was so flawless they would incur no point penalties, which was no small feat. But the current NYU Bobcats team was one of the best cheerleading teams in the country, and Rachel honestly believes this year is their year.

Rachel raises her hands and waits until the noise has died down. "But that doesn't mean we're going to hit it once and stop there. We're going to keep running all the way until Nationals." She glances meaningfully at the row of championship banners adorning the wall of the gymnasium. There is a conspicuously empty spot already reserved for 2020 next to their 2019 banner, and Rachel knows everyone in the gymnasium is looking at it.

"Remember, you're not just competing against other teams." Rachel's voice echoes a little in the silent room. "You're competing against yourself. Only you know what you've gone through to be here in this room. Maybe some of you know what your friends are struggling with. I hope you do."

She sees Ryder get pats on the back and some side hugs, and smiles, her heart warming at the sight. It seems that Kurt's right. She should learn to trust his instincts more.

"I want to remind everyone that my door is always open," continues Rachel. "If you want to talk about anything – grades, stunts, friends, anything big you need to get off your chest – I'm here to listen. Anytime." She pauses. "I don't wanna hear about your hookups, though. Seriously. There should be no hooking up while all of you are working towards Nationals." She points playfully at them.

Laughter fills the gym. She can see a few of her kids avoiding her gaze, and she mentally files away the information.

"We're serious, guys; this isn't _Pretty Little Liars_ ," quips Kurt and they all laugh again.

"Thanks for that, Kurt. But seriously. I'm here for you. All of you are special, because being part of something special makes you special." She claps her hands together. "Now, c'mon! Let's bring it in, you guys!"

Everyone surges forward, putting their hands in. "On three, Bobcats! One, two three…!"

"Bobcats!" they roar as one, throwing their hands up.

"Go home, get some rest, because tomorrow we are doing it all over again!" says Rachel. She gets an assortment of cheers and groans which make her laugh.

* * *

Rachel is tense. She's put a lot of work in not letting her feelings show, but Ohio State is performing, and they are _good_.

She knows the scoresheet upside-down and back-to-front. She knows the Cheerios were checking off each of the columns; unassisted stunts. Basket after basket. Their tumbling is on form, their pyramids flawless, their dancing impeccable.

That was the hallmark of her arch-enemy, Quinn Fabray. Head coach of Ohio State's Cheerios, four-time consecutive National champions… until their streak had been broken last year by Rachel's kids, the NYU Bobcats.

There were many teams who had been upset over the surprise win – Quinn Fabray and her Cheerios chief among them. But for some reason, the Bobcats' victory had earned Rachel Quinn's personal enmity.

Rachel really didn't understand why Quinn had it out for her personally. The best team won, simply put; the Cheerios had lost because one of their flyers had wobbled on top of the pyramid, while Rachel's kids had performed perfectly. She thinks it's childish for someone to develop a hatred of her based on something that isn't even her fault.

"Oh, hello there Rita. Didn't see you there."

Rachel plasters a smile on her face and turns around. "It's Rachel, Quinn. I would've thought champion – sorry, ex-champion – cheerleading coaches would be good at remembering names."

"I do if they're worth remembering," replies Quinn airily.

Pleasantries done, they move into the main conversation. "Your kids are looking good out there," says Rachel, nodding at the Cheerios, who are wrapping up their routine.

"Naturally. They've worked very hard to get where they are." Quinn smiles sweetly. "I should go. If you'll give me your number, I'll text you a photo of the 2020 National championship banner hanging on our gym wall."

"What a coincidence, Quinn; I was going to say the same."

But to Rachel's complete shock, Quinn gives her a tight smile and hands over her unlocked phone.

She has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Rachel quickly types in her number, saving her contact name as _Nat2020Champs_ (it was juvenile, but it was worth it to see the flicker of annoyance on Quinn's face), and passes the phone back to its owner. "Thank you, Quinn," she says.

"Don't mention it." The Cheerios were already bouncing off the stage. "I should go. See you from the winners' podium."

"I'll be sure to let you touch our winners' trophy," retorts Rachel. "Maybe some of our talent might rub off on you." Despite how icy-cold Quinn's glare is, Rachel feels warmed by it; she smiles and walks away, a newfound spring in her step. She's got a good feeling about today.

* * *

Rachel laughs aloud as she watches her kids run into the sea, whooping like madmen, the 2020 Nationals trophy clutched in their hands. She quickly slips off her shoes and takes her phone out of her pocket, in case they get any bright ideas about throwing her in.

"Congratulations," says a voice to her left.

She turns, does a double-take, then graciously recovers. "Thank you, Quinn," says Rachel. "It was a very close struggle. Your Cheerios were amazing." She keeps her expression neutral, afraid that she will trigger insults, or worse, physical violence.

Much to Rachel's surprise (and relief), Quinn merely shrugs. "We didn't come here for second place, but it happens. It'll push them to work harder next year, that's for sure."

Emboldened by how well Quinn seems to be taking her team's (second consecutive) defeat, Rachel sticks out her hand. Quinn stares at it.

"What's that for?"

"I'm rather pleased by your sportsmanship, Quinn," says Rachel. "This seems to me like the birth of an enduring and hopefully legendary rivalry. The occasion seemed momentous enough to me that I think we should shake on it."

Quinn gapes at her. "Shake on what?"

"On who's taking home the trophy next year, of course." Rachel winks. "The defending champs need a worthy challenger."

"You're insane, Berry." In spite of that, Quinn grips her hand and shakes it. "But I'll take you up on that."

* * *

Of course, she sends Quinn a photo of the banner hanging on the gym wall, as well as the champions' trophy in its new home in the display cabinet.

Quinn texts back a terse:

**i regret giving u my no alrd**

* * *

When Unique, one of her sophomore bases, suggests reviving the Bobcats' official Instagram account (which has been inactive up to this point in time due to lack of time and interest on the team's part), Rachel readily agrees. They're not just a fluke now; their second consecutive Nationals victory means they have real bragging rights. Maintaining a social media presence, Rachel reasons, would also give her kids something constructive to do. "That's a good idea," she says. "Who knows, we might attract some fresh talent if we post pictures of you guys."

Unique nudges Marley and giggles. "We meant you, Rachel."

"Meant me, what?"

"You're the face of the team just as much as we are," says Marley earnestly. "Like, you're pretty famous in your own right, Rachel."

Rachel blinks. "Oh," she says. "I suppose I am – but that's in the past. It's all about you guys now; I'm not the one out there performing the stunts."

"You choreograph the really good routines, that alone could be the reason we're doing so well," says Marley bashfully. "But you're also great at motivating us and making us into a real team. I mean, I never, in a million years, would've dreamed I'd be a cheerleader, let alone a freakin' two-time National champion."

She is a little lost at first, but once she realizes Marley isn't talking about her previous career, Rachel beams at her. "Nonsense, Marley. You're very talented; we're glad we won you over from choir."

Marley turns pink. Unique grins. "So, it's agreed?"

"I haven't agreed to anything, missy," Rachel says, eyes narrowed in mock anger. "Don't try to pull a fast one over me, Unique; I've wrangled my fair share of contracts, as you know."

"Can we post a photo of you on the Bobcats account?"

"Which photo?"

Unique fiddles with her phone for a minute before holding it out to Rachel. On the screen is a candid shot Rachel remembers being taken after their first Nationals victory. Rachel, soaked and laughing, holds the champions' trophy on the beach, surrounded by her equally soaked and happy cheer team.

"Oh my god."

"We don't have to post that one, if you don't wanna," says Unique hurriedly.

"No, it's fine." Rachel smiles. "It's great, Unique. Go ahead and post that."

"Great!" The cheerleader's fingers fly over her phone screen. "Do you have an Insta account?"

"Yes, of course."

"What is it? We'll tag you." Once the business has been concluded, Unique bounces off, Marley following close behind.

Rachel shakes her head, smile fond.

* * *

After the next practice, Rachel is mildly alarmed when Unique bounds up to her, brandishing her phone. "That photo alone has more likes than every other photo we've posted, _combined_ ," she squeals.

Rachel squints at the screen. "Seven thousand likes? Wow. I didn't know that many people would be interested in collegiate cheerleading."

Unique scoffs. "It should be more, given how you single-handedly turned this team around. I bet the entire country will know who you are in a couple of years."

"I suppose this means you're gonna continue with your social influencing?" Rachel asks teasingly.

"It's producing results! We're gonna be trending at this rate!" Unique grins. "I knew that marketing degree was gonna pay off; I didn't think it would be so soon."

"You're not earning anything from this."

Unique waves her off. "I'll take care of that soon enough. Imagine the sponsorships, the merchandising deals…" Her eyes go wide.

"I'll leave that to you," says Rachel, who is not at all concerned by Unique's machinations.

* * *

It's a good thing Unique has prepared her for her newfound (online) popularity, because the next time Rachel remembers to log into her Instagram account, she's received over a thousand new followers of her own. Initially, she's baffled by where this new wave of attention came from (it's been a while since she's been on Broadway) until Unique explains that Rachel's account was tagged in the Bobcats photo, so it links to her personal Instagram.

Bemused, Rachel changes her Insta profile picture to Unique's photo of her, and immediately follows the official Bobcats page.

After training that day, Rachel idly scrolls through the comments on that photo. Most of them are well-wishers posting congratulations on their victory, plenty of emoji Rachel doesn't really recognize, comments from alumni and her cheerleaders, comments from people who have just found out Rachel Berry the Broadway actress is now Rachel Berry the cheerleading coach and are subsequently losing their minds, and…

A comment from someone with the username **quinnfabray**.

**Looking forward to beating you next year, Bobcats.**

Rachel growls. She clicks to Quinn's profile, which is surprisingly dense with photos, mostly consisting of Cheerio red. Rachel follows Quinn, because she believes that it pays to keep tabs on one's rivals. And she already has Quinn's number, so that's just another piece of information in her dossier.

* * *

It's rather serendipitous, she thinks, that when she's in Lima visiting her fathers, a friend calls her to ask for a favor. Rachel is more than happy to oblige because she's in town anyway, and McKinley High is a short drive from her fathers' house.

Sam is waiting for her outside the school entrance, grinning widely. "Rach!" he calls.

"Hi, Sam." She laughs when he plants an exaggeratedly sloppy kiss on her cheek. "God, it's been so long."

"Yeah, it really has." He holds her at arm's length, frowning at her. "Have you gotten shorter? I'd swear you weren't this short when I last saw you…"

Rachel scowls and swats his arm. "Ass."

"I'm kidding. You look good." He opens the door for her and falls into step beside. "Thanks again for coming down on such short notice. My celebrity guest had to pull out at the last minute, and I didn't think I would get anyone else on such short notice." Sam pulls a face. "I really didn't wanna let the kids down; they were really looking forward to having a professional opinion."

"You don't count?" Rachel asks.

"Nah, I'm just Mr Evans the boring ol' Glee club teacher."

"They really have no idea that you were a Fiyero understudy off-Broadway for a season?"

He shrugs. "They're kids, Rach. They see me all the time, so I'm automatically uncool."

"Shame." Rachel laughs. "Anyway, Sam, I'm happy to come down; I was already visiting my dads this weekend, and I thought it would be helpful to have you owe me a favor."

Sam glares at her in mock-anger, and then laughs. "Yeah, okay; I owe you, Rach. Don't let it go to your head."

* * *

The music comes to an end; the students hold their finishing pose.

Rachel applauds. "Well done," she says. "That was a big improvement from earlier. Livy, good job with that high note, you're projecting your voice better now. Sarah, Tom, your two-step looks a lot better now, I can see you've been working on it." She didn't miss the way each of them brightened as she singled them out for individual praise.

"Overall, I think you have a fantastic chance at Regionals," she concludes, smiling as the choir room explodes in cheers.

To Sam, she asks: "Whose idea was it to perform a Queen and Taylor Swift mashup? Please tell me you had no part in this artistic decision, Sam."

He laughs, holding his hands up. "It was the kids' idea. But you have to admit, it sounds great. They've put in a lot of effort into making it work."

"It really does," Rachel admits, "but you didn't hear it from me."

Sam snorts. "C'mon, you were in Glee in high school too, weren't you? Haven't you ever made questionable musical choices?"

"That is a dark part of my life that will forever remain secret, Sam Evans," retorts Rachel, smiling.

* * *

After he's dismissed the Glee club, Sam offers to take her out for dinner, which Rachel gladly accepts. In the parking lot, Sam pauses to smack his forehead. "Oh, shoot."

"What is it?"

"I've forgotten my papers in my office. I was supposed to grade them over the weekend." He looks at her sheepishly. "Gimme a minute, I'll be right back."

She just shrugs and nods. Sam's always been a little scatterbrained; it used to drive Kurt crazy. No wonder they'd broken up after a few months.

It's a nice evening, so Rachel decides to wait for him out in the parking lot, humming absently to herself as she waits. She's enjoyed herself today; talking to the kids reminds her of her own time in her high school Glee club. It makes her wonder why she chose to coach something so radically different from her own performing background, but as much as she'll always love singing, she also loves her current life too much to give it up.

"So this is what cheerleading coach Rachel Berry does on her days off," says a familiar voice. "What, are you headhunting now? Are high school recruitment drives the secret to the Bobcats' victories?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. Of all the places to run into Quinn Fabray, it has to be in a parking lot of a small-town high school. "It's nice to see you again, Quinn," responds Rachel dryly. "Can I be the first to say that I am very glad you didn't choose to pursue a career in espionage? Because I'm sure the first rule of spying on people is not to alert them to one's presence."

Quinn ignores her. "Don't be ridiculous, Berry. You make it sound like following you is something sane people would do. What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere? You can't have traveled here knowingly; you don't strike me as the type who could survive a few hours without Starbucks. Took a wrong turn somewhere in Jersey?"

Similarly, Rachel ignores the barbs. "My dads were originally from Lima, but they moved to New York when I was a baby. They moved back here last year, so I visit them when I can."

"I didn't know your dads were teenagers."

Rachel laughs coldly. "Obviously I'm not visiting them _now_ , Quinn. Don't play dumb, it only reinforces the dumb blonde stereotype you seem to be trying to embody. But to answer your unspoken question, I like to volunteer my time too. Giving back to the community is very important."

Quinn rolls her eyes.

"And what about you? I'm fairly sure that even though the Cheerios are in the same state, you're a little way from Columbus." Rachel smirks. "Took a wrong turn on your way home?"

"I'm here to see my friend," says Quinn. "I had to cancel some plans at the last minute, so I came as soon as I could to apologize."

"Cancel at the last minute…? Wait, is your friend Sam Evans?"

"Quinn!" Sam, thankfully, chooses that moment to appear, skidding to a halt when he sees them glaring at each other. "Uh, I see you two know each other."

Rachel immediately rounds on Sam. "Sam, when you said you'd lined up a celebrity guest who had to cancel, you meant _her_?"

At the same time, Quinn remarks snidely: " _Berry_ 's your replacement celebrity guest? You're really stretching the definition of _celebrity_ , aren't you?"

The smile he wears falters as he glances between them. "Uh, yeah? Quinn and I are both from here, and she's been the Cheerios coach since forever." To Quinn, he says: "Rachel and I go back to when she used to be a big deal on Broadway, so she's like, my next logical choice." He gives her a look that Rachel interprets as _be nice_ , because Quinn merely huffs and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Don't look so scared, Sam," says Rachel, "we're not going to eviscerate you just because _some of us_ can't be civil to others."

Quinn's lip curls, but she remains silent.

"Oh. Okay, cool. I think."

"Don't overthink it, Evans, you look like you're about to boil over." Quinn shakes her head. "I'm just here to apologize for having to cancel on you at the last minute. Though now I think I might owe you another apology for forcing you to impose Berry on your kids." And she turns on her heel, leaving behind an uncomfortable-looking Sam and a fuming Rachel.

"Uh, Rachel…"

"Let's just go," she says sharply.

* * *

The next day is a Saturday, and so Sam shows up on Rachel's doorstep the next morning with two coffees and an apologetic smile.

"Hey, Rach. I'm really sorry about yesterday; I should've done a better job of standing up for you."

She smiles, accepting the coffee from him. "My dads made too many pancakes. Would you like to come in and help us eat them, Sam?"

He brightens and nods, following her inside. Once they've been served a stack of pancakes each (a modest one for Rachel, and a towering pile for Sam), he says: "I'm gonna go talk to Quinn after breakfast."

Rachel blinks. "Sam, you don't need to…"

"Nah, I really do. You didn't deserve any of that. Honestly, I thought Quinn had changed. She used to be like, all bitchy and stuff when we were in high school, but she mellowed out a whole lot after she got pregnant – shit." He flushes red, shoving pancakes into his mouth.

"She what?"

"Nuffin'."

" _Sam_."

Sam chews, swallows, then sighs. "You know what? She's gonna murder me later anyway, so I'll tell you if you promise not to tell her I told you."

"My lips are sealed." She passes him the maple syrup. He gamely accepts the bribe.

"Okay, so… Quinn and I both went to McKinley High. She was head cheerleader, but then her rep got trashed when her boyfriend's best friend got her preggo, and her jerk parents kicked her out." Sam stabs at a piece of syrup-slathered pancake moodily. "She gave the baby up for adoption, but she wasn't really the same after all that, y'know?"

Rachel nods slowly. "Of course."

He looks relieved. "Yeah. So… I'm really sorry about yesterday."

"You're forgiven, Sam."

"I didn't know you two are friends."

Rachel snorts. "Friends wouldn't be the word I would use."

"But you work together, yeah? Go easy on her, okay? She's gone through a lot."

Rachel huffs indignantly. "I've never – I've been nothing but polite to her, despite being professional rivals, and she's belittled and insulted me the entire time." She pauses when Sam gives her his teacher look. She knows she can be selfish; she grew up the only daughter of two doting fathers. Rachel tries to imagine being in Quinn Fabray's shoes, being sixteen and pregnant and homeless; tries to picture cold condescension on her fathers' faces as they kick her out.

Rachel decides that she can be selfless, just this once. "... You know what? Okay. I'll try."

Sam beams at her. "You're the best."

* * *

Rachel feels a little bad after Sam's left. She grew up in New York, the only child of her doting fathers. Surely she's able to empathize with someone whose upbringing was less than idyllic; her fathers certainly raised her to be better than that.

Suddenly, having exchanged numbers seems fortuitous. On a whim, she texts Quinn:

_Quinn, I apologize for insulting you yesterday. You didn't deserve that, and as educators and adults, I'm certain that we don't have to stoop to childish interactions; we should be setting a better example for our students. If you happen to have some free time today, please allow me to buy you a coffee as a gesture of my sincerity. Best regards, Rachel Berry_

Rachel does her best not to have a heart attack when her message is marked Seen a few minutes after sending it.

**fine.**

_Thank you, Quinn._

* * *

Although she knows very well that she isn't in high school anymore (and thus no longer subject to bullying by the school jocks), Rachel is just a little apprehensive that Quinn might stand her up today. It's a very distinct possibility, her irrational mind insists: Quinn Fabray is exactly the type of person who would have bullied Rachel if they were in high school together.

But when she enters the Lima Bean, she spots a familiar blonde woman seated in a corner of the cafe.

"Just so you know," says Quinn the instant they're close enough to talk, "Sam made me do this."

"I appreciate you letting him make you do this," replies Rachel mildly. She takes her purse out of her bag. "What can I get you?"

"A regular coffee is fine."

"Anything else to go with that? Cookies? Muffins?"

Quinn scrutinizes her momentarily before averting her gaze. "No. Thank you." The last is added grudgingly.

The cafe isn't very packed for a Saturday afternoon, and so Rachel is back with their drinks in under ten minutes. Quinn accepts her drink with a nod. "Yours smells… interesting."

"It's a soy chai latte."

"I didn't know they had soy milk."

Rachel sips her coffee, and nods thoughtfully. "Neither did I. You were right the other day; I need my Starbucks."

Quinn looks mildly discomfited, but doesn't say anything. Rachel immediately feels guilty. She should be making a genuine effort to be nice, and that means not bringing up whatever heated exchange they had. "Quinn, may I ask you a question?"

"You may." Quinn sips her drink. "I might not answer."

"Fair enough." Rachel smiles faintly. "Why do you hate me?"

"Isn't it obvious? Your team beat mine at the last Nationals." She scowls. "And last year's."

Rachel frowns. "Yes, but… I've always felt that your hatred of me extends to more than strictly professional reasons. We're both adults, Quinn. You don't have to like me, nor can I make you like me. That's perfectly fine."

"Glad we got that sorted out," replies Quinn.

"We're both coaching elite college cheerleading teams," says Rachel, ignoring the heavy sarcasm of Quinn's tone. "We'll be seeing a lot of each other professionally, so I'd like it if we could be at least civil to each other." It goes unsaid that that's more on Quinn than herself, but Rachel decides adding it would be too heavy-handed, so she contents herself with sipping her – surprisingly delicious – latte.

"Oh."

Rachel isn't sure how, but her explanation seems to make Quinn look even more uncomfortable than before. She decides not to press the issue; if Quinn is set on hating her, there's really nothing Rachel can do about it.

She is about halfway through her drink when Quinn finally says something.

"I don't know what you want from me, Berry."

"I'm not asking for us to be friends, first of all. As I mentioned, being civil to each other would be good enough."

"But you're clearly hoping for more."

Rachel blinks. She's not used to people listening to her, let alone searching her words for hidden meaning. "... Naturally," she hedges. "I don't have many female friends, and I would love the opportunity to make one. You're an ideal candidate because we both work in the same industry, and thus would have plenty of interests in common."

She sees Quinn mouth the words _ideal candidate_ and _same industry_ , her eyebrows knitted in confusion. "... Are you for real?" she says eventually.

Rachel laughs self-consciously. "I did mention that I don't have many female friends. I should amend that to, _I don't have many friends,_ period."

"That explains a lot." Quinn frowns. "Wait, how do you know Sam?"

"He dated my assistant coach, Kurt, briefly. They parted on friendly terms when Sam took that teaching job in Lima, but Sam and I stayed in touch."

"Ah."

It takes a considerable amount of self-control not to blurt out what she already knows about Quinn, but she thinks she manages admirably. "What about you? How do _you_ know Sam?" Rachel lies through her teeth, hoping against hope that Quinn might divulge more details.

"We went to the same high school," says Quinn, the short clipped tone making it clear there is no room for further questioning.

"I see."

The silence unsettles Rachel. She's a nervous talker, but she senses that her usual monologuing will scare Quinn off, so she keeps herself occupied with her drink.

"... I'm pretty sure we can manage some small talk over the very, _very_ occasional coffee," says Quinn at last. "But no promises for the future."

"Done."

A ghost of a smile lingers on Quinn's face. "You're so… it's no wonder you don't have many friends."

"I realize that," says Rachel with a self-deprecating smile. "I'm an only child, and my fathers spoiled me. They told me I was quite the precocious child growing up. As an adult, I can understand how all those factors wouldn't exactly have made me the most popular kid in school."

"Right."

"What about you? I'm certain you must have been the most popular girl in school." Immediately as the words leave her mouth, Rachel knows she's made a fatal mistake. Her smile freezes, and she tries to act natural. "Because – you're beautiful. I imagine that you must have had plenty of admirers."

"I suppose I was." Quinn runs a spoon through her coffee. "I was a cheerleader in high school."

Rachel could have cried in gratitude for that small detail. "That explains your choice of career. You must have been an exceptionally gifted cheerleader."

"Thanks. I think." Quinn actually nods at her. "I preferred books to cheering, though."

Rachel smiles. "Tell me more about this book hobby of yours. I personally, love nothing more than curling up with Barbra Streisand's biography and a mug of vegan hot chocolate on wintry days."

Quinn eyes her curiously. "That… certainly fits in with what I imagine you're like. Honestly, I don't know why I even expected otherwise."

Rachel scowls at her.

"But I wouldn't exactly call it a hobby, not when I have a degree in English from OSU."

Rachel's jaw drops. "Quinn!"

"What? That shouldn't surprise you that much, should it?" One eyebrow goes up. "Though I remember you saying something about the dumb blonde stereotype."

Rachel blushes. "I apologize. Both for the insult, and for sounding shocked. I was under the impression that books were merely a hobby of yours; honestly, Quinn, earning a degree from a fairly reputable school isn't merely _preferring books_. Ugh, I can't believe you let me make a fool of myself." Rachel rubs at her face. "I apologize for belittling your intelligence and assuming that you were a blonde bimbo bitchy cheerleader."

"If it'll make you feel better, apology accepted."

Rachel beams. Even the eye roll she receives in response doesn't dampen her mood. "Thank you, Quinn. That does indeed make me feel better. Apart from all these pleasant surprises I'm learning about you. I thought you would be an interesting person to get to know initially, but I'm beyond thrilled to find that you're much more fascinating than I'd hoped for."

"... Right. I guess I should say the same goes for you…? Except you're really just as loud and opinionated as I was expecting." But she isn't frowning at Rachel as she says it, softening the words.

She laughs. "I can't deny it. My dads adore me, but even they think I can be a handful at times."

"Ouch."

"Yes, exactly! Thank you!" Rachel makes an exuberant gesture with her hands. "I'm not delusional; I know I'm not the most easy-going person around. But it's nice to know that someone is aware of my flaws and isn't running for the hills."

Quinn shakes her head. "You're selling yourself short. I definitely wouldn't run for the hills. A slow jog, maybe."

Rachel huffs indignantly, amused in spite of herself. Quinn is funny, and it's a pleasant surprise. "I resent that."

"You say that like I'm supposed to care." Quinn pushes away her empty cup. "As… pleasant, as this has been, I really do need to go."

"Yes, of course. I understand, Quinn." Rachel follows her outside. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me today, and for the conversation."

"God, you make this sound like it was a date." Quinn arches an eyebrow. "I'll see you around. Unfortunately." But she's definitely smiling as she walks away, and Rachel counts today as an absolute win.

* * *

Rachel feels bold enough to post a photo to her personal Instagram of two coffee cups on the table, and caption it: _Nothing like coffee and conversations on a summer afternoon._

Barely an hour later, there's a comment from Quinn:

**it must have been fun.**

Rachel resists the urge to reply.

* * *

Rachel knows she has her work cut out for her when summer training starts.

For one, her senior cheerleaders have graduated. A few of them have graciously stuck around to help train up the next batch, but her juniors aren't at the standard she needs them to be – and that wasn't even counting their personal problems. Ryder and Jake are excellent tumblers, but they were constantly at each other's throats, competing for Marley's affections.

Rachel rubs her temples. _Boys._

"Ryder, Jake," she says, beckoning them over. They obey, albeit very reluctantly and sheepishly.

"Please explain what happened," says Rachel. She glances over at another of her cheerleaders, Tina, who is currently lying on the mats holding an ice pack to her head, and back at the boys.

They shuffle their feet and avoid looking directly at her. Both boys are at least a head taller than Rachel, but they're both cowering before her wrath.

"Well, you see…" begins Ryder.

"It's our fault…" says Jake.

She taps her foot impatiently, a warning to them to cut to the chase.

"We're sorry," the boys say in unison.

Rachel scowls. She gives them her best "you clowns are in big trouble" glare, and they both shrink another inch in height. "I don't care if you're sorry; that should be the very minimum. Kindly explain to me what happened back there. Ryder?"

Ryder gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Uh, we didn't catch Tina."

"Yes." Rachel makes a show of tapping her chin with a finger. "She was doing a difficult stunt, and that's why I assigned you two as backstops. So, why didn't you catch Tina?"

"Because me and Jake were arguing?"

"Thank you, Ryder. Jake? What were you and Ryder arguing over?"

"We were arguing over who gets to ask Marley out this weekend," says Jake gloomily. Marley, who is holding Tina's hand, squeaks and covers her reddening face with her hands.

"Seriously? On the mat? _In the middle of a routine?_ " Rachel closes her eyes again, feeling a headache building. "Need I remind you two that we have a month before the freshmen officially join? We, the National champions of 2020, are here, sacrificing our summer holidays to put together a routine that will show our freshmen that the NYU Bobcats are the best of the best. Your graduated seniors have _generously_ put their lives on hold to come back and help. And here I have my two best tumblers fighting over who gets a _date_?" She crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at them both. "Did I leave anything out?"

Both boys are approximately six inches tall at this point. "No, ma'am," says Jake meekly.

"You know, I really am quite impressed," says Rachel, silky-smooth. "Tell me, is it easy to throw away your entire team's aspirations for your own selfish needs, or do you at least spare a thought for them before bed?"

They cringe.

"Well?!" Rachel snaps suddenly, the abrupt change in volume making Ryder and Jake jump.

"No, ma'am – "

"We're sorry, Miss Berry – "

"Sorry is not good enough, Ryder, Jake," says Rachel. "Sorry is reserved for when you have to face your entire team after you've let them down." She narrows her eyes at their slumped shoulders and decides they've been humiliated enough. "We are doing another all-out," she decides, and raises her voice to be heard over the chorus of groans, " _you heard me._ We are doing another all-out. Sugar, you'll take Tina's place." Rachel glares at Ryder and Jake. "I'll be watching you two clowns, and if you dare show me anything less than your _fullest_ concentration and dedication, I am taking you both off the mat."

Rachel spins on her heel, executing a perfect diva storm-out off the mat. She'd missed that; the perfect silence she left in her wake, and the tension of twenty teenagers collectively holding their breath. Her heels were the only sounds in the gym as she strides to Kurt and the GoPro.

"Well? Let's go," she says briskly, clapping her hands, and she cues the music.

* * *

When the team finally gets their act together, they have about a week left of their summer. Rachel takes one look at their faces and then gives them the time off.

She thinks she needs it more than they do.

Rachel finds herself traveling to Ohio for the week for reasons she doesn't quite understand. She usually sees her fathers once every few months, and she considers herself to be quite close to them. But it becomes clear when she pauses as the car passes the OSU campus.

Inexplicably, there's really only one other person whose company she'd appreciate; someone with a dry sense of humor who she finds utterly fascinating, and is probably the only other person who is as dedicated to zero-hit as she is.

* * *

The OSU campus is fairly crowded, despite the summer holidays. Rachel easily finds the gym, thanks to some helpful students, and the loud music blasting from the double doors are a dead giveaway.

Inside, a familiar figure barks orders and criticism at a sweating, leaping team of Cheerios. Rachel hangs back, watching them from the sidelines.

"I wasn't aware I'd scheduled an open practice."

Rachel smiles. "You didn't."

Quinn eyes her; she isn't smiling, but she isn't scowling either. Rachel takes that as a victory. "What are you doing here, then? Lost your way in Jersey?"

"Amazingly, no," says Rachel lightly. "I simply happened to be in town for the week, and I thought I'd see that empty space on your gymnasium wall that you told me was saved for the 2020 Nationals banner for myself. Maybe 2021 will be your year?"

She receives a grimace in answer, and then Quinn neatly spins on her heel to address her Cheerios. "Take fifteen. Hydrate," she says. "I want an all-out when you come back on mat. Be ready for it."

The Cheerios depart without grumbling, unlike Rachel's kids. "Your team is amazing," she comments. "Normally, my kids would be planning mutiny whenever I mention an all-out."

Quinn gives her a sharp look. "They're prepared to do what it takes to win," she says shortly. "Most of them are here on sports scholarships."

"I see."

"I was a scholarship student myself, so I know what it's like," says Quinn, surprising Rachel. "I push them to their limits and beyond. They may hate me all they want, but they go along with it because they know I know what needs to be done, and they trust me to lead them to victory."

Rachel nods. She's gained a newfound appreciation for her rival coach. "That's wonderful, Quinn." She sticks out her hand.

Quinn eyes it. "What's that for?"

"I simply wanted to reaffirm our agreement. May the best team win Nationals 2021," says Rachel, smiling.

"You're insane." But just as before, Quinn gives Rachel's hand a short shake.

* * *

The next few months of Rachel's life is completely consumed by cheer, her cheerleaders' personal drama (the Ryder-Jake-Marley saga was the least dramatic), and plans for Nationals.

Groaning softly, she sinks into her office chair. "I don't think I've ever been this tired."

"You said that last year. And the year before that." Kurt takes the plush chair on the opposite side of Rachel's desk which is unofficially his.

"And I'll say it again until I'm retired, I think."

Kurt opens his eyes. "I think they did well today, though. I think they have a real shot this year."

Rachel hums noncommittally. There are six weeks before Nationals and they already have their routine finalized; if they can achieve zero-hit at least a week before competition day, Rachel would be confident in her kids' chances.

But there is always Quinn and her Cheerios.

Her impromptu visit to OSU has been unexpectedly revealing. While she and Quinn are pretty much the same, she's gotten an insight on what drives the Cheerios, and it's planted a tiny seed of doubt that nothing can shake.

Her kids are motivated and talented. But they certainly aren't as hungry for the championship like Quinn's Cheerios seem to be, especially not after two Nationals wins. And as much as they love and respect her as a coach, she knows she doesn't command that same level of trust from her cheerleaders.

Idly, Rachel pulls out her phone and scrolls through Quinn's Instagram page. After all, it counts as keeping an eye on the competition. Rachel's read _The Art of War_ , the importance of knowing her enemy and herself deeply ingrained in her psyche.

But the further back Rachel scrolls, the cheerleading-related photos taper off, and Quinn's personal life starts to emerge. Photos of books, often captioned with a personal review. Random things and scenery. Occasionally other people appear, including an awkward-looking high school prom photo of teenaged Quinn and Sam.

It's very much like Rachel's own Instagram page. Once, she intentionally kept it barren because she'd wanted to keep her private life private. And somewhere along the way, the reason had changed to not having a private life worth sharing.

She takes pride in leaving comments on some of Quinn's photos; a compliment on her photography skills here, a comment on a cheerleading photo there.

"Rachel, what are you doing?"

"Hmm?"

"You're smiling at your phone." Kurt is watching her, an amused smile on his face. "You haven't done that since Finn."

Rachel wrinkles her nose at the thought of her ex-boyfriend. "I can assure you I'm not texting Finn. That ship has sailed so long ago."

Kurt waves a hand dismissively. "I'd be mad at you if it was Finn. No, I'm just wondering who is this new person in your life that's got you smiling like that."

"There's no one," Rachel insists. "I'm just scrolling through Instagram. Looking at videos of cute animals."

He accepts the explanation with an easy nod.

* * *

Almost exactly a year to the first time Quinn and Rachel shook hands by the Atlantic City seashore, it's Rachel's turn to walk down to the sea.

Quinn is already soaked, stumbling out of the water, still laughing. She has a red Cheerio towel around her neck which is equally as soaked. Her assistant coach says something which makes Quinn snort.

She waits on the sand. Rachel knows the feeling well, and she gives Quinn all the time she needs to relish this victory.

Before long, Quinn notices her. "Berry."

"Congratulations, Quinn," says Rachel. She is sincere, despite the sourness that sits in Rachel's stomach every time she loses. For some reason, losing to Quinn wasn't as galling as losing normally was. "Your team this year was magnificent and deserved to win."

Quinn gives her a radiant smile that has Rachel completely taken aback. This is the first time Quinn has ever smiled at her. It lights up her face, making her look softer, younger, and more open than Rachel had ever seen her be.

She has always thought that Quinn is pretty. But she can see now that Quinn is _beautiful_ , and the epiphany causes her to forget to breathe.

"Thank you, Rachel," says Quinn. Even her voice seems softer.

Rachel loves the way Quinn makes her first name sound. It takes her a while to recover, but she clears her throat and says: "I, um, wanted to continue our beach tradition." She lets a giggle slip when Quinn arches an eyebrow at her. "Don't give me that look; we'll be taking home the championship next year, mark my words. You've just given my kids all the motivation they need."

Quinn laughs, a rich and bubbly sound. "You can try," she says, but her eyes are warm, and her handshake firm, despite her bedraggled appearance.

Rachel can't help but notice that Quinn's eyes are hazel, flecked with gold when light from the sunset catches them at an angle. Something inside Rachel's chest rearranges itself, and she realizes that she is in deep, deep trouble.

* * *

Rachel's always prided herself on being equally attracted to both sexes. She's long past her teenage years when the smallest scrap of attention from someone she thought attractive would send her into a tizzy, regardless of gender.

But here she is, always pushing her limits. She'd had a crush on the quarterback of her high school football team when he was out of her league. In college, she'd had a fling with her female dance teacher. As though all those hadn't been ambitious enough, now Rachel has to go and crush on someone who doesn't even like her.

Rachel paces in her office. "This is crazy," she says for approximately the seventy-eighth time. "I'm crazy. I can't believe I'm even thinking of – no, no. I can't. This isn't happening."

"Rachel, calm down," says Kurt. "At this rate, you're gonna have an aneurysm, drop dead, and make your kids orphans."

Rachel stops pacing to shoot him a deadly glare. "I'm only doing this because the kids need me to be in top form." She takes a deep breath and begins her vocal runs. Doing them used to help her calm down before a performance, but they were working wonders for her now. "Okay. I'm calm. I'm serene. Nothing is bothering me."

He stands up and moves over to her, rubbing her arm soothingly. "Okay, that's great," he says. "Now do you feel like telling me what you're freaking out over? I haven't seen you this tense since you found out the team snuck out for tacos before a competition and half of them came down with food poisoning two hours before their set."

"I'd almost wiped it clean from my mind, thank you for that," remarks Rachel testily. Kurt shrugs. "Anyway, I'm happy to say it has nothing to do with the kids. Not directly."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oooh. That's a first."

"Shut up. It's…" Rachel sighs deeply. "Kurt, I think I have a crush."

"Really," he says, deadpan. "That's perfectly normal, Rachel, it's hardly the end of the world – "

" – I think I have a crush on Quinn Fabray," she interrupts him.

"... oh."

"Yes, oh." She sighs. "She's our biggest rival and a part of me wants to wipe that stupidly gorgeous smirk off her face every time she insults us, but the other part hates that she's so good at what she does, and that she's one of the best choreographers in the business, and she's just _so_ damn pretty when she smiles. Did you know her eyes light up when she smiles? She's so beautiful, it's ridiculous."

"Oookay, I'm sensing a lot of mixed feelings here," says Kurt, backing up a little. Rachel notices, and scowls at him. "Seriously though, Rachel, it's scary. Are you sure it's hormones and not some misplaced feelings of professional rivalry?"

"I certainly don't want to bend Monica Aldama over the desk and fuck her brains out," snaps Rachel.

Kurt cringes. "That was a pleasant mental image."

"Oh, grow up, Kurt. We're girls, we have vaginas; deal with it."

He sighs and starts rubbing her back. "Are you done with your toddler temper tantrum now?"

"... yes," Rachel says. "Sorry."

"You're forgiven. I know better than anyone that you get testy when hormones are involved." Kurt clears his throat. "So… Quinn Fabray. While I have to say you definitely know how to pick them, I can't deny that you have excellent taste." He frowns. "Wait, is she the one you were texting that time?"

"I wasn't texting Quinn," she snaps. "I was scrolling through her Instagram."

"And leaving comments on her photos?"

Rachel doesn't even bother denying it, giving him a small watery smile. "She's so pretty, isn't she?"

"Alright, slow it down there, Sarah Paulson. Yes, she is; but she's also the head coach of our biggest cheer rivals, and I'm pretty sure she hates your guts by association."

"That didn't stop Romeo and Juliet." She hasn't told Kurt that Quinn doesn't exactly hate her guts because she wants to keep that close to her chest for now.

"Yes, and they're dead," replies Kurt, rolling his eyes.

Rachel sighs. "You make an excellent point."

* * *

Sam invites her back to Lima to watch his Glee club's show choir Nationals' routine, and to give them a few professional pointers before their competition in Chicago. Rachel is more than happy to agree; her fathers have been asking her to come home and spend time with them (as they do whenever the Bobcats lose). Rachel decides to make a long weekend out of it and gets Kurt to take over the following Monday's rehearsal.

When she posts a selfie of herself outside Dayton Airport captioned _heading to Lima for the weekend!_ , she's really hoping someone will notice. And to make it crystal clear to that particular someone, she makes sure to post a comment on Quinn's new Instagram photo of the 2021 Nationals champions' trophy.

Even if she's already expected it, Rachel still jumps when her phone chimes with a text.

**i see youre in lima**

_;) how astute, Quinn._

_By texting me, I'm assuming you'd like to meet up?_

**sure, i dont have any plans tonight apart from polishing my 2021 Nationals trophy**

_Very funny. I'm offering you the once-in-a-lifetime chance to brag to me. You should go for it, since I'll be taking the trophy next year :)_

_:) I'll sweeten the deal and buy you dinner._

**when you make me an offer like that, how can i resist?**

* * *

It's almost a bit ridiculous, really, how seriously she takes this; for goodness' sake, she was wearing jeans and an old NYU Cheer T-shirt when she met Quinn for coffee the last time. And that was considered dressing up, since their work outfits mostly consisted of sweats, sneakers, and that season's cheerleading team shirt. Rachel has built up quite the collection of those.

There was certainly no reason for her to empty out her suitcase, decide nothing inside was fit for a nice dinner between not-friends, and go out to buy a new dress. Quinn is a rival-slash-colleague-slash-acquaintance. And Rachel may want more, but rivals-turned-lovers is something more commonly found in fiction than in real life. Not to mention they were both women.

In other words, Rachel was simply hoping for too much. Rachel sighs as she looks at herself in the mirror. "Get a grip," she addresses her reflection.

They weren't friends; acquaintances, at best. And yet... Rachel pauses, halfway through applying her lipstick, and frowns.

Even if she _was_ hoping that she'd get to meet Quinn because of that pesky crush of hers, there was no way she could have forced Quinn to text her. Quinn agreeing to meet her for dinner doesn't mean anything –

– unless it does. Mean something. She hopes.

Rachel sighs again. She _really_ doesn't want to jump to conclusions, but it's been a while since she's dated, and longer still since she's liked anyone as much as she likes Quinn. Heck, it's been a while since she's even _looked_ at anyone twice, and maybe that's why she's getting worked up over a simple dinner and talking to the mirror.

* * *

Quinn is already waiting outside the restaurant – and to Rachel's surprise (and delight), she's wearing a dress too; a summery shirt dress in a blue-and-white print, and a cropped jacket over that. "You look beautiful, Quinn," Rachel says, resisting the urge to smooth down her own dress. "Really, there was no need to dress up. It's a simple victory dinner between friends."

"I could say the same for you." Quinn nods at Rachel's dress, one eyebrow quirked.

"Oh, this ol' thing? It's been hanging in my closet for years, and I thought it rather appropriate for tonight." Much to Rachel's delight, Quinn hadn't corrected her when she'd called them friends. "Red _is_ the Cheerios' color, after all."

"You're weird, Berry." Quinn looks at the restaurant entrance. "Shall we?"

"After you." Rachel doesn't speak again until they've been seated by the host. "I should thank you for choosing such a nice restaurant tonight."

Quinn squints at her. "You're paying, so I don't understand what you're thanking me for."

"They have quite the selection of vegetarian offerings on their menu. Most people don't realize I'm vegetarian, and I'm quite used to ordering a Caesar salad with dressing on the side." She puts the menu down. "Come to think of it – I don't recall ever mentioning to you that I'm vegetarian."

"Calm down, or you'll have an aneurysm. God, are you always this neurotic? I thought it was a seasonal thing."

"Believe it or not, that's not the first time I've heard that," mutters Rachel. She gets an amused glance in response.

"To answer your question, the NCA wrote quite the article on you when the Bobcats won their first Nationals title," says Quinn.

Too late, Rachel remembers the feature-length interview she'd done. She groans softly. "I suppose my fame precedes me."

"You should be more careful about what you divulge in your interviews. I really don't think the color of your lucky underwear has any bearing on your team's chances."

"What?!"

Quinn rolls her eyes – but her lips twitch, betraying her amusement. "I'm joking, Berry."

She forces a grudging smile. "Okay, I'll admit you fooled me, but only because no one could have guessed that Quinn Fabray has a sense of humor." Rachel shakes her head. "You're quite the actress too. But seriously, I know I didn't disclose my dietary preferences in that interview, so how on earth did you know I'm a vegetarian?"

"My college roommate was a huge Broadway nerd and watched way too many of your interviews."

"Ah."

Quinn takes out her phone, typing briefly, before handing it to Rachel. There's a YouTube video open, titled _Spring Awakening_ _NYADA Production 2013_.

Rachel quirks an eyebrow and taps the play button onscreen. Quinn's already dragged the tracker bar to the middle of the video, so the grainy Rachel onscreen immediately launches into song.

"You have a nice voice," Quinn says, tone deliberately inflectionless.

"God, I'm not gonna lie; I thought you were gonna comment on something else," Rachel laughs. "Also, I'm fairly certain there are plenty of other, more flattering, videos of me online, so I kinda hate you a little for picking my amateur college production." She pauses. "Especially when it wasn't needed."

Quinn just smiles at her, a small uptick of those gorgeous lips, and Rachel really shouldn't be mesmerized… except she is. "Noted."

Their waiter – who'd introduced himself as Todd earlier – glides to their table. "Ladies, are we ready to order?"

"Ah – sorry, not yet."

Todd just smiles and leaves. Rachel hides her embarrassed smile behind her menu – momentarily gratified to see Quinn do the same.

* * *

By the time their entrees have been cleared away, they've gone through an abbreviated run of Rachel's Broadway career. It's fairly impressive, Rachel has to admit, seeing herself from a third person's perspective. To her, it was her childhood dream come true; to Quinn, she's performed most of the great musicals on the most famous stages.

"I don't get it."

Rachel was preoccupied chasing the last few drops of her wine, and almost misses it. "I'm sorry, what?"

Quinn repeats her question. Rachel frowns in thought.

"Get what?"

"You have – _had_ – a really great career, Berry." She tosses a careless wave towards the phone. "It's clear you love performing, and you're really good at it. So, why are we here? Why cheerleading, of all things? You know, most mid-life crises don't normally involve becoming a champion cheerleading coach," quips Quinn.

Rachel laughs. "That, I blame on my biological mother, Shelby. Shelby's head coach of the multiple-time National show choir champions Vocal Adrenaline, so I thought I could coach show choir too. But one day, I was flicking through my TV channels and came across this documentary on competitive cheerleading. It reminded me of my awkward teenage years, struggling to fit in in school, and how I'd always looked up to the popular cheerleaders."

Quinn nods.

"The documentary was rather eye-opening, to say the least. It's changed a great deal since I was a teenager; it's so physically demanding. It's not a sexist display for the male gaze anymore."

Quinn gives a snort of laughter. "Sorry. Go on."

"But what struck me the most was how cheerleading isn't just a place for pretty faces; it's truly a home that welcomed everyone and didn't judge. It reminded me of my high school Glee club, and how it had been a home for me of sorts."

"So, cheerleading," says Quinn, and Rachel laughs.

"So, cheerleading."

"Let me guess; you barged into your closest cheerleading club and demanded to be given a chance to lead them to glory?"

Rachel blushes and pointedly avoids looking at Quinn, who just snorts.

"Really, Berry?"

"I didn't _barge in_ anywhere, Quinn, don't be ridiculous," says Rachel tartly. "I earned a certificate in sport coaching first, and a friend was able to pull a few strings and get me a place as an assistant coach at NYU on a trial basis. After the head coach of NYU unexpectedly quit halfway through the season, I was forced to step up," Rachel says, still blushing. "The administration was understandably hesitant about letting a Tony award-winning actress with no real cheerleading or teaching experience take over as coach of their cheerleading team temporarily while they searched for a replacement, but they had no luck hiring a suitable candidate before the season ended. The administration notwithstanding, the kids themselves had even less regard for my numerous Broadway achievements. But I was better than nothing, and anyway, it all paid off when we won Nationals last year."

Quinn puts down her drink. "Are you telling me that you had virtually no experience last year? And your team still managed to beat my Cheerios?"

Rachel shrugs, but she can't hide how proud she is of her kids.

"When's your Lifetime movie coming out?"

Rachel exclaims in outrage, swatting Quinn's arm. "I would resent that, but I'm aware it really sounds like the plot of your average sports movie." She smiles. "But what about you? How did beautiful, intelligent, English-degree holder Quinn Fabray become head coach of the Cheerios?"

Quinn's face hardens subtly. "I didn't exactly have the epiphany you did," she says brusquely. "I went to OSU on a cheer scholarship and made captain of the Cheerios three years running. The administration thought it was only natural I stay on as coach after graduating, and so I did."

There is a finality to her tone that suggests she doesn't want to go into details. Rachel accepts that. "That makes sense," she replies, and doesn't miss the grateful look that flits over Quinn's face. "It's really no wonder the Cheerios are the preeminent college cheerleading team in the country with someone like you at its helm."

"Whatever you say," retorts Quinn, albeit without any heat.

* * *

Rachel is almost happy to pay for dinner, though she can't help but sigh as she scrawls her name on the credit card slip. She doesn't know the next time she'll be able to spend time with Quinn like this, and she doesn't want to wait for the next Nationals to see her again…

"I don't suppose I can interest you in a drink?" Rachel keeps her tone light and nonchalant, expression casual.

"Are you buying?"

It's not a yes, but it's not a no either. Rachel smiles back at Quinn. "That depends on how much of a drinker you are," she replies.

"I'm a social drinker, if someone's buying." Quinn rests her arms on the table.

And she feels like she's treading on dangerous ground. If she didn't know any better, Rachel could've sworn that Quinn is _flirting_ with her, which wreaks havoc on Rachel's heart rate. Quinn is very beautiful, and Rachel has an Ohio-sized crush on her erstwhile rival, but Rachel doesn't want to ruin anything by rushing headlong into things based on assumptions; she's sabotaged plenty of relationships that way.

So all Rachel does is wink at Quinn, say: "I'll buy you your drinks, and you'll buy me mine," and hope for the best.

Quinn's response is to stand up and leave. Rachel's heart plummets to the bottom of her shoes.

Then barely a few steps away from the table, Quinn calls over her shoulder: "What are you waiting for, Berry? I don't have all night."

* * *

Rachel makes a mental note to thank her old dance teacher the next time they meet for brunch. She's learned a lot of things from Cassie July, from working on Broadway ("You should never take a production seriously unless they have an actual choreographer") to life lessons ("Never sleep with someone on the first date"). Right now, Cassie's lesson on alcohol as social lubrication is coming in handy as she learns more from an increasingly tipsy Quinn than she did over the entire history of their acquaintanceship.

Quinn is halfway telling her a long and rambling anecdote about the antics she and her Cheerios got up to when trying to raise funds at an alumni charity event, but she keeps interrupting herself to provide background on characters being mentioned. It's incredibly difficult to follow – since Rachel has no idea who any of these people are – but also very endearing. Rachel finds herself watching Quinn talk, rather than listening to what she's saying.

"You're drunk, Quinn," Rachel says with a laugh, and orders glasses of water from the bartender. She's pretty intoxicated herself, but Rachel has never been hopelessly drunk with someone she doesn't know well. Being with Cassie has taught her that.

"I'm not drunk. Buzzed, maybe."

Rachel is about to make a joke about Quinn's alcohol consumption and its effect on her narrative skills – but stiffens when she feels a foot slide up her leg; she sends up a silent prayer of thanks that she decided to wear a dress that day. Skin on skin, inching higher…

"Quinn…"

"Do you not want this?" Something flickers in Quinn's eyes; she withdraws her foot. Rachel bites hard on her lower lip, trying not to let her disappointment show.

"No, I definitely do," Rachel is quick to reassure her, "but I don't want either of us doing something we'll regret when we're sober."

Quinn purses her lips and looks away. "Rachel, there are some things I can't even _think_ of when I'm sober."

"Are you saying that…?"

"I'm saying that there's a lot about me you don't know," says Quinn. Suddenly, she is very close, and Rachel finds herself holding her breath. "Yet."

If this is a dream, Rachel doesn't want to wake up. "I'd like to find out," she replies.

Quinn doesn't move in immediately. There are scant inches between their lips, and Rachel wants to kiss her.

Then Quinn breaks the spell, pushing off from the table and away from Rachel abruptly. "I – you're right. We shouldn't do anything we'll regret." Quinn smiles; it looks forced, after the entire evening of being treated to warm and genuine Quinn smiles. "I don't think either of us should be driving. Can I call you a car?"

"That'll be wonderful." Rachel licks her lips nervously. "Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"I hope I'm not reading this wrong, but… would you…" Rachel pauses. "I'm not going to go to my fathers' house drunk, I was planning on staying at a hotel tonight, so… would you like to come with me?"

Quinn blinks at her. Rachel tries not to panic as bleary hazel eyes focus on her.

God, she's… they only almost kissed five minutes ago, and inviting Quinn back to her room is such a large leap. She opens her mouth to retract her invitation –

"Okay," says Quinn. She isn't smiling, but her hand moves to rest on Rachel's arm.

Rachel's pulse races. Her tongue darts out to moisten suddenly-dry lips. "Okay," she says, "great. I – are you sure?"

Quinn nods. She looks Rachel in the eye. "Yes, Rachel. I'm sure."

* * *

By the time their cab pulls up outside of the hotel, Rachel's sobered up enough to request a room without being too self-conscious about it. Nevertheless, finding their room still occupies enough of Rachel's mental faculties to keep her busy. "This is it," says Rachel, pointing at the door, squinting at the number to make sure. She pulls out the keycard, painfully aware of Quinn hovering behind her. "Last chance to back out."

Quinn purses her lips and shakes her head. It makes her sway a little.

She swipes the keycard, but it only reads properly on her third try. Rachel pushes the door open, saying "Shut it behind you, it auto-locks" to Quinn, stumbling a little as she kicks her shoes off. Two echoing thumps from behind tell Rachel that Quinn has done the same.

The instant she hears the lock click, she spins around, grabs Quinn's arm, and yanks her in for a bruising kiss. Rachel is gratified to hear Quinn moan into her mouth, even as slim hands settle on her hips.

"God, you're so sexy," grunts Rachel. Her purse thuds on the floor, forgotten.

"Shut up and kiss me, Berry."

Rachel does precisely that. While her mouth's occupied, she pulls Quinn's ridiculous little jacket off her shoulders, fumbling with the buttons of her dress; Quinn makes a small breathy sound and kisses Rachel back. Now that they're both barefoot, Rachel finds that Quinn has a few inches' height over her; it doesn't bother her much, because she simply pulls Quinn's face down to her.

Without warning, Quinn drops to her knees. Somehow she's gotten her hands under Rachel's dress, hiking up the fabric, peppering hot kisses over Rachel's thighs. Rachel bites on her lower lip, trying not to cry out. She grips Quinn's hair, enjoying the feeling of silky blonde tresses tangling over and under her fingers.

"God, _Quinn_ …"

Quinn's hands splay over her legs, guiding her backwards. Her tongue does something wonderful over the inside of her left thigh; Rachel's knees give out, and she finds herself lying on her back. They've made it to the bed somehow, but it's hard to think about any of that when the only view of Quinn she has is blonde hair, moving in between her legs. Rachel's hips buck forward as Quinn's tongue finds a particularly sensitive spot and soothing it with a butterfly kiss.

" _Yes_ , god… oh my god, Quinn, yess…"

Nimble fingers brush the crotch of her panties. Rachel is treated to the sight of Quinn straightening up and shrugging her jacket off properly (God, she hadn't even managed to take it off earlier). She makes eye contact with Rachel, her hands move, and suddenly Quinn has a very familiar pair of panties in her hand.

"Oh god."

Quinn disappears under her dress again; Rachel instinctively spreads her legs as wide as she can manage. She moans when Quinn's lips close over her clit and suck, _hard_ ; Rachel scrabbles for something to hold on to, and grips tightly onto Quinn's hair with both hands. Rachel is vaguely aware she is pulling it too tightly to be comfortable for the other woman, but it's hard to hold on to coherent thoughts when she is _so_ close –

Rachel arches her back, moaning softly as her orgasm washes over her. It takes her a while to form words; she gasps for breath, eyes staring unfocused at the ceiling.

"I'm that good, huh?"

She inclines her head a fraction to the right to find a smug-looking Quinn, head propped on her arm, watching her.

"Yes," says Rachel shortly. She has no other words to describe what Quinn did to her, made her feel. Besides, if she strokes the other woman's ego, there is a good chance of more orgasms in her immediate future. She shuffles forward to kiss Quinn briefly and tastes herself; a pang of arousal tugs at her already-over-sensitive body.

"I'm very impressed," Rachel murmurs. "I've never come that fast or hard with anyone else, male or female."

Quinn's smile turns predatory. "I can't believe I've impressed Rachel Berry."

"You have," Rachel allows, "but it's my turn now." She stands up on unsteady legs, turns her body around, and straddles Quinn's hips. Her weight is keeping Quinn still, freeing her hands to roam over Quinn's upper torso. "I'm going to make you," says Rachel, popping another button of Quinn's dress, "come _so_ hard," she slips a hand inside, "that you'll be feeling me," her palm cups a full breast, "for a _week_." Rachel pinches a nipple; Quinn arches upwards.

"What the fu – " whatever Quinn was saying is lost when she bends down to kiss Quinn hard, tongue snaking into her open mouth, taking full advantage of the opportunity.

Rachel shifts, pushing her leg between both of Quinn's, thigh pressed dangerously against her crotch. Quinn's breathing goes ragged.

"Do you know how long I've been wanting to have you like this?" she asks, smiling when Quinn's eyes go unfocused, and her breathing hitches.

Quinn tries to say something, but Rachel takes her bottom lip in between her teeth, tugging playfully. "That was a rhetorical question. One would think an English major would know that." She trails a finger down the center of Quinn's chest.

Anger flashes in Quinn's eyes, along with arousal. She thrusts her hips forward, riding Rachel's thigh, making them both moan.

"Oh fuck." Rachel finishes unbuttoning Quinn's dress, and simply pushes her bra upwards, too impatient to take it off properly. "I know you think I talk too much, so I'm going to do you a favor." She waits for Quinn's eyes to focus on hers. "I," says Rachel, enunciating each word clearly, "am going to fuck you like you've never been fucked before. Is that okay?"

Quinn nods furiously, her pupils dilated.

"I'm going to make you come so hard on my fingers that you'll forget your name and scream mine instead. Would you like that, Quinn?"

"Rachel…" Her voice is soft and unsteady, nothing like the head coach Rachel knows. It turns her on even more. Rachel licks her lips slowly, knowing Quinn is watching the movement of her tongue.

"That's not a yes or a no." She kisses down Quinn's neck, sucking thoughtfully on the soft skin. "Do you want my fingers inside you, Quinn?" For emphasis, she cups Quinn's breasts in her hands and squeezes.

"God, yes, please."

"I love good manners, don't you?" She hovers over Quinn, one hand propping herself up, the other sliding into Quinn's panties. Her fingers are instantly drenched; Rachel smiles in anticipation.

She begins slow, slipping through and over the length of Quinn, who is so wet it sends a throb of arousal through Rachel's body, making her want to press her legs together. She settles for pressing her crotch down on Quinn, which draws moans from them both. Her thumb finds Quinn's clit, rubbing it furiously; Quinn gasps, her breathing noisy; Rachel takes that as approval.

She tries to thrust back against Rachel's fingers. Rachel's other hand pinches Quinn's nipple as punishment; she feels hands grab her hips, nails digging in. It hurts; she doesn't care.

Rachel decides she's done teasing. Her other hand swipes through Quinn's arousal, her finger circling Quinn's entrance. She leaves an open-mouthed kiss on the base of Quinn's throat, dipping her head to pay attention to Quinn's right breast.

Events unfold so quickly next, Rachel almost loses track: she enters Quinn with a finger at the same time her lips close around Quinn's right nipple, her other hand rubbing Quinn's left breast. Quinn lets out this strangled gasp, her grip on Rachel's hair tightening, and her entire body seizes up. Rachel adds another finger and thrusts in and out of her, prolonging Quinn's orgasm as long as she can, until the hands on her hips slacken, and Rachel is able to sit up again.

Quinn stares back at her, looking utterly wrecked. Rachel tries not to look as smug as she feels. She makes eye contact with Quinn as she deliberately licks her fingers clean; Quinn makes a small strangled sound. Rachel uses her other hand to slowly brush blonde hair out of Quinn's face; Quinn scowls at her and squirms away.

Rachel shrugs, keeping her expression neutral.

* * *

Rachel is pleased to find that sometime after their third round, she seems to have worn Quinn out. "I thought cheerleaders were supposed to have more stamina than this," she says.

Quinn's eyes snap open. "You're not human, Berry," she says, and they flutter shut again.

Rachel grins. "I'll take that as a compliment. It's one of the nicest things I've heard you say about me."

Quinn doesn't respond verbally; she holds up her hand, middle finger extended, and Rachel gasps.

"Do you let your students get away with being so rude, Quinn Fabray?"

"I don't let anyone get away with being rude, except me."

Rachel smiles. "You know, I find myself… rather surprised."

"What's there to be surprised about?"

Rachel leans closer, letting the back of her hand trail down Quinn's cheek; Quinn stiffens, but doesn't pull away."That you would be interested in me. Like _this_." She laughs a little. "I've wanted you for a while now, but I was completely convinced that you wanted to eat me up, and not in the fun way."

Quinn's expression doesn't change. "I did tell you there's a lot of things that you don't know about me, Rachel."

"Can I look forward to finding out more?"

She knows she's risking it, but the gamble pays off when Quinn sits up on her elbows, fixing Rachel with a challenging stare that sends shivers down Rachel's spine. "What else do you wanna know?"

"Let's start with what your pussy tastes like," Rachel purrs. "It's really not fair that you've already gone down on me and I haven't had the chance to repay the favor in kind."

Quinn's mouth opens, then closes, a few times soundlessly. Rachel smirks.

* * *

Rachel wakes up first. She's a little confused – she doesn't normally wake up this late, and where is she anyway? – until she notices the mop of tangled blonde hair on the pillow beside her.

Her next reaction is to snuggle up to a still-sleeping Quinn. Rachel inhales the still-lingering scent of jasmine in Quinn's hair, overlaid with sweat and sex. She tries not to be too smug about the whole thing.

"Mornin'."

"Good morning, Quinn." Rachel wonders if it would be too much if she was to kiss Quinn's cheek. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah." Quinn moves out of Rachel's arms – not unkindly – muttering "Bathroom," as she goes.

Rachel takes the opportunity to get out of bed and start hunting for her clothes. She's up to her panties but no bra by the time Quinn comes back.

"What are your plans for today?"

Rachel straightens up, frowning as she tries to recall her schedule, putting a hand on her hip. She smiles crookedly when she notices Quinn's gaze rake up and down her body. "I don't have anything planned for today, as a matter of fact, apart from having a lazy day with my fathers." Quinn is still naked, a fact that Rachel is enjoying considerably. "I don't have to spend time with them," she hints.

Quinn smiles. "God, first the photos, and now this; you wouldn't know what subtlety is if it stood naked in front of you, Berry."

"I'd much prefer seeing _you_ naked," says Rachel frankly. She bites back a laugh when Quinn flushes red – and the color spreads down to her upper chest.

"You're filthy."

"You seem to like me filthy."

Perhaps she'd gone too far. The look in Quinn's eyes is unreadable, and Rachel holds her breath.

"It seems I do." She turns away, engrossed in gathering her clothes again.

Rachel releases a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Quinn?"

She looks up, distracted, her bra in her hand. "Hmm?"

"This doesn't change anything, right?" Rachel asks, trying not to sound desperate. "I really do enjoy your company as a friend, and I don't want to jeopardize that."

"Okay?" says Quinn. She puts her bra on, reaching around herself to fasten the clasp; Rachel valiantly keeps her eyes on Quinn's face. "I enjoy spending time with you too, Berry."

"I hope I can see more of you," says Rachel. Her gaze dips lower, and goes back up to Quinn's face, her meaning clear. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Quinn fumble with her bra. Rachel pushes on with what she has planned to say before she can lose her nerve: "Quinn, I find you extremely attractive. Nevertheless, whether it's as friends, or – something more – I would love to see you again in any capacity you're comfortable with."

"... I wouldn't be opposed to that."

She smiles widely. "Thank you."

"What are you thanking me for? You're weird, Berry." Quinn turns away.

* * *

She knows she's in trouble when she spends the entire trip back to New York texting Quinn.

"Have a good weekend?"

"The best," Rachel says before she catches herself, and adds: "I'm always happy to be helping the less privileged. Community outreach is important, and an excellent example for our students."

Kurt rolls his eyes, but his smile is genuine. "Speaking of which…"

She sighs. "Let me guess. Jake and Ryder?"

"Surprisingly, no. It's Spencer."

"Spencer?" Rachel can't contain her surprise. Spencer is one of their freshmen recruits, and it's unbelievable that he's embroiled in drama so quickly.

Kurt shrugs. "There's been some issues with stunting because Spencer doesn't want to be "pigeon-holed into a gender role", or so he says."

"Gender role?" parrots Rachel incredulously.

"He wants to be given the chance to try being a flyer et cetera, and not be limited to certain roles because he's a guy," says Kurt.

Rachel frowns. "He does realize there are very practical concerns dictating what roles each person fills, right?"

"He'll find out sooner or later." Kurt rolls his eyes. "Not to mention that Joe injured his leg last practice and we don't have any other bases that can replace him except Roderick, and he's not there yet, mentally." Kurt sighs. "He doesn't believe that he can do it."

Rachel groans. "So, once more unto the breach?"

"You exaggerate," says Kurt primly, "Henry V has nothing on college cheerleading."

* * *

Quinn shows up outside the NYU Bobcats' gym building with a smirk on her face. "Guess who was invited to teach a cheerleading masterclass in New York this weekend."

Rachel mirrors her smirk. "That's strange, I haven't received any emails today."

Quinn laughs at her. "I'll gladly accept your dinner treat, Berry, I'm starving."

"Now, who says I'm paying, Quinn?" She crosses her arms over her chest, tilting her head to one side. "After all, you're the one being paid to come to the big city, and I distinctly remember paying the last time we went out."

"New York is expensive. Besides, I'm sure a local like you would be able to show me around."

"A little tit for tat, then." Rachel takes a step forward. "I'll show you around town, give you the locals' tour of the city." Another step forward. "And in exchange, you'll buy me dinner."

She isn't sure if she's reading this all wrong. Quinn hasn't shown any indication that she wants the same thing Rachel does – actually, she hasn't even indicated she wants this, apart from that night in Lima, when they were both drunk. Perhaps she's coming on a little strong.

Just before Rachel can lose her nerve, Quinn laughs. "Deal."

* * *

Just as the last time they saw each other, they end up going to dinner, a bar afterwards, and now they're in Rachel's apartment.

"The last time we did this," says Rachel boldly, "you got me off within ten minutes."

Quinn's response is a lazy smile.

Rachel grins back, encouraged. "So I think you deserve something special today."

Quinn looks pleased. "Oh?" Her tongue darts out of her mouth to slowly moisten her lips; Rachel tracks the movement with her eyes. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Why don't I show you?" says Rachel, giving Quinn her best feral smile. "Sit."

Quinn does. She crosses her legs deliberately; Rachel's eyes track the movement, and she has to rein herself back in.

"Tease."

"Pot, kettle."

Rachel runs her hands through her hair, shaking out the tresses, knowing that Quinn is watching. She's glad she chose to wear a button-down today; deliberately, she pops the top button, then the next, taking her own sweet time.

She knows she has Quinn's full attention when she slips a hand inside her own shirt and there's a corresponding soft intake of breath from the woman in front of her. Smiling, Rachel withdraws her hand, continuing to unbutton her shirt until the garment hangs on her shoulders, gravity the only thing keeping it on her body.

"God…"

Rachel smirks. She shrugs it off, letting the shirt slide to the ground, and reaches around herself.

She watches Quinn's throat move as she swallows.

Rachel makes eye contact with Quinn before she unclasps her bra in one fluid movement.

"Rachel…"

It's just her name. But Quinn's mouth shapes the syllables so beautifully, making her name sound like a plea, and that ignites Rachel's arousal. She walks forward, each step measured, until she's standing in front of Quinn, her knees pressing against the bed. "Kiss me," she says.

Quinn does. Rachel swallows a moan as hands rest on her hips – her still jean-clad hips. She lets go of Quinn's shoulders to unbutton the front –

Quinn bats her hands away, and makes quick work of the button and zip. She hooks her thumbs in the loops of the pants and tugs; Rachel helps.

Then Rachel gasps as a mouth closes over her right breast. It's difficult to remember what she's supposed to be doing next in her planned seduction when Quinn is sucking on her nipple like _that_.

Quinn pulls Rachel into her lap, surprisingly strong. She turns her attention to Rachel's other breast, and higher still, teeth scraping briefly over Rachel's collarbone; Rachel tips her head forward into Quinn's shoulder, breathing hard.

She needs to kiss Quinn again. Rachel straightens up, putting her hand on Quinn's cheek, aligning their faces so they're nose to nose. She hesitates – just for a moment – and makes eye contact, suddenly shy. Rachel sees nothing but lust in Quinn's hazel eyes, and it gives her the courage to close the final few inches between their mouths.

This time, the kiss is soft and sensual. Quinn kisses her like she is asking a question, mouth softly questing, quietly insistent on seeking her answer. Rachel moans softly when a tongue traces her lower lip, and deepens the kiss.

One of her hands rests on Quinn's stomach, rubbing over the fabric covering it. Rachel's wearing only her panties; Quinn is still fully clothed. The sensation of fabric on her bare skin is turning Rachel on in a way she'd never expected to experience. She straddles Quinn's lap, giving her hand more room to move down, down –

"Yes," Quinn moans when Rachel's fingers come to a halt over her crotch. Rachel teases the inside of Quinn's thighs, not-so-subtly pushing her legs further apart.

She wants to taste Quinn. But first, she wants to look into Quinn's eyes as she comes, to watch her fall apart. Rachel wants to know if Quinn is just as beautiful when she's falling to pieces, as she is when she's perfectly composed. Most of all, Rachel wants to make sure Quinn feels cared for. She has strong feelings for Quinn, regardless of what this is – whether today could be the start of something more, or just another sexual encounter.

So instead of getting to the main business, Rachel decides to take her own sweet time. She withdraws her hands from between Quinn's legs – drawing a disappointed moan – and putting them on Quinn's shoulders, pushing lightly until she's gotten Quinn to lie down. She kisses away the confusion on Quinn's face, lips sliding down the side of Quinn's neck, running her tongue down her skin, finishing with a soft nip to the base of Quinn's neck. She seems to like that, judging from the way her hands tangle in and pull at Rachel's hair.

Rachel's palm rests over Quinn's chest, squeezing one breast. Quinn's body arches off the bed and into her, and Rachel takes advantage of that to tug at Quinn's dress. She gets the message and sits back up, helping Rachel with her work; she rewards Quinn's compliance with a soft kiss. Her hands find the hem of Quinn's dress – _at least_ someone _chose a more convenient outfit_ , thinks Rachel grumpily – and hike it up to her waist.

Much to Rachel's surprise, Quinn yanks the entire dress over her head. After a moment's hesitation, she takes off her bra too; Rachel kisses her again for it. She glances at Quinn, wordlessly asking permission to continue; Quinn nods, and Rachel's mouth immediately closes over Quinn's breast.

She sucks the nipple, licking enthusiastically at the areola, while her hand massages Quinn's other breast. Rachel focuses on Quinn, trying not to be too smug when Quinn throws her head back, a hand over her mouth to muffle her pleasure.

Rachel gently coaxes Quinn back down on the bed. She kisses Quinn again, softly, then deeper, while her hand moves downwards again, pushing Quinn's panties aside. Rachel tries her best to keep her own breathing even, despite Quinn's soft pants, and focuses on enjoying Quinn Fabray. She runs her thumb over Quinn's clit, and savors the way Quinn's body jerks in response.

Rachel replaces the hand over Quinn's mouth with her lips, and kisses Quinn breathless even as her fingers continue to tease Quinn. One finger slips into Quinn with ease – Rachel almost loses her focus with how wet Quinn is – and she adds another finger before giving one thrust. Quinn rocks into her.

They begin a rhythm, Rachel pushing, Quinn moving in perfect counterpoint. She is a silent lover, and it's not until Quinn's counter thrusts start becoming sloppy that Rachel knows she's close. Rachel speeds up her thrusts, and rubs Quinn's clit with the pad of her thumb to help her along.

Quinn falls apart beautifully, just as Rachel predicted. Her eyes close, her head tipping backwards, mouth open in silent ecstasy. Rachel rubs Quinn for as long as she can, until Quinn's body relaxes underneath her, until Quinn opens her eyes and is able to look back at Rachel and see her.

Rachel smiles. She removes her hand – Quinn shudders – and discreetly wipes it on the sheets. Her other hand strokes Quinn's cheek, moving to brush hair out of Quinn's face before she can stop herself.

But this time, Quinn leans into the touch instead, eyes fluttering shut, wearing a soft smile on her face.

Another piece of _something_ inside Rachel falls into its place.

* * *

The morning after runs pretty much the same as the previous time, except they're in Rachel's apartment and that means Rachel doesn't have anywhere to go.

So the ball is in Quinn's court, and whether she can tolerate Rachel's company when they're not having sex, food, or alcohol.

Rachel shrugs on her _Wicked_ cast member T-shirt and a fresh pair of panties, then goes out to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. She debates with herself how much she should make; she doesn't want to entertain the possibility that Quinn might not even want to stay.

She and Quinn have sex. That's nothing new. But last night's activities felt more like _making love_ and less like _fucking_. She doesn't want to read too much into it, since Quinn doesn't seem to be interested in a relationship. _With her_ , Rachel 's traitorous brain supplies.

Well, regardless of what Quinn thinks of her, the show must go on; that's a lesson that was drilled into Rachel since she was a child. So she putters about the kitchen making preparations for her daily breakfast routine – doubling the portions after a moment's thought.

"Morning."

Rachel whirls around, frying pan in her hand. "Good morning, Quinn."

Quinn – much to Rachel's disappointment – is fully dressed in her clothes from last night. She looks a little rumpled but is still as beautiful as ever, in Rachel's humble and unbiased opinion.

"I took the liberty of assuming you would like breakfast," says Rachel. "I believe the coffee should have finished brewing, if you'd like some. I've set out mugs next to it for your convenience."

She holds her breath.

Then Quinn nods, and goes over to the coffee machine.

In her relief, Rachel blurts out: "I'm making breakfast. Being vegetarian, I'm certain that you may not care for the food I'm cooking – "

"– it's fine, Rachel."

"Right. Okay. That's good." She doesn't speak again, focusing on the food until she's setting a plate of food in front of Quinn, pouring herself some coffee.

"Thank you. This looks good."

Rachel smiles wanly. "I think you should taste it first before you say that, Quinn."

Quinn takes a bite, nods, and continues eating.

"I'm surprised you didn't ask me what it was before eating." There were not many people in Rachel's life who would trust her cooking, nor anything vegetarian.

"I was raised not to criticize food that someone made for me."

"At last, someone with manners." She eats a forkful of tofu. "But just so you know, it's scrambled tofu and peppers. My take on breakfast tortillas."

"Okay." Quinn obediently takes another bite, smiling briefly at Rachel over her fork. "It's delicious."

"Thank you, though I should tell you that my intention was not to fish for compliments."

"Yes, you were."

"Fine, I was," admits Rachel.

Quinn smiles again at her victory. Rachel smiles back, sips her coffee, and tries not to initiate conversation. She fails miserably. "I'm glad you decided to stay for breakfast, Quinn."

Quinn's expression turns unreadable. "Don't read too much into it, Berry. You were already making the food; it would be rude of me not to eat it."

Rachel sighs. They're back to surnames now. "Okay."

Another silence. "Quinn?"

"What?"

"May I ask you a question?"

"You're gonna ask me anyway," replies Quinn.

"I'm not trying to pressure you, but… we should talk about last night."

"Why?"

"What is this? What are we doing? This isn't purely physical for me anymore, Quinn, and I would really like to know what that means." _What it_ could _mean,_ she thinks.

Quinn sighs and puts down her mug. "I told you before, Berry; there's a lot you don't know about me."

"That you only sleep with people when you're drunk?"

She laughs, a short hard bark. "Almost. I don't sleep with men at all, period."

With every shred of information Quinn lets slip, Rachel starts to put together a story. It doesn't look very promising so far. "Quinn, thank you for being brave enough to share that with me."

Quinn scowls. "I wouldn't call that being brave."

"My fathers were originally from Lima, as you know. They moved to New York to raise me because they didn't want me growing up as the daughter of two gay men in that small homophobic town. Believe me, I appreciate what it took you to tell me."

Quinn looks away, her jaw working. "Then you should know that I need to keep my… _inclinations_ , secret." She shakes her head. "You're lucky I've had years to deal with this. If we'd known each other when we were younger, I'd probably have freaked out, denied everything, and then thrown you out of my house."

Rachel laughs weakly. "I'm glad we're past that stage, then."

Quinn's attention is focused on her food, but she nods.

"About us…"

"There is no us," replies Quinn. "I'm not looking for a relationship." Her fork scrapes over the plate, the sound almost as harsh as her words. "Ever."

A part of Rachel crumbles into nothing. "Oh." She looks away, trying not to cry. "Right."

Then a hand closes over Rachel's. "But I'm not saying I don't like you, Rachel. I'm not… I still have a lot of things to figure out, and I'd…" She hesitates, jaw working. "... I'd really appreciate it if you can be patient with me. Because I'm trying, and I need time."

And really – how is Rachel supposed to shake this ridiculously huge crush she has, if Quinn is going to be keeping her hopes alive like this, in such an endearing manner? "That means we can keep seeing each other, right?" _Meeting for sex_ goes unspoken because Rachel really doesn't want to say it.

"Okay."

* * *

Whatever they're doing – that's _not_ a relationship – quickly settles into a routine; every two months or so, Rachel makes an excuse to go to Ohio, or Quinn comes up to New York. They spend a night together here, an occasional weekend there. Once in a while they meet halfway.

Which is why Rachel is surprised when Quinn shows up at her apartment door. "I'm sorry," she says, "I must have made a mistake with the schedule. I could've sworn that we weren't supposed to meet at Cesare's until seven…"

"You haven't made a mistake," replies Quinn, who looks – uncertain? Rachel must be reading this all wrong, because Quinn Fabray is cool and confident; Quinn Fabray does not act shy and awkward, like a teenager on a first date. "This week has been crazy, and I thought we could stay in tonight instead." Here her brow furrows. "That is – if you want. Sorry for the last minute notice, I thought – "

"No! That's not a problem at all, I'd love to spend time with you in private." God, she's so unprepared, she's not even wearing matching underwear. Not that Quinn would care, since she usually gets Rachel naked within five minutes.

But Quinn surprises her yet again, heading to her couch and leaving Rachel's clothes untouched. "I brought a DVD," she calls over her shoulder. "Do you have a favorite takeout place?"

Rachel stands, mouth agape. She's aware she's staring, but she's having trouble processing this turn of events. "Quinn… what are you doing?"

Quinn stares at her. "We're watching a movie? And ordering takeout. Is… is that okay?" She's so fair, Rachel can see the tips of her ears burn red.

"That's perfectly okay, Quinn. I'm sorry for overreacting; this isn't a big deal at all, and honestly I do love movies and takeout, but… Quinn, surely you understand why I'm surprised." She gives Quinn her best reassuring smile. "Apart from that first coffee outing, we don't typically spend time together like this. Like _friends_."

Quinn's cheeks are now tinted red. "I know that," she snaps. "Look, Berry, if this is gonna be weird for you, I can just leave. Or you can let me fuck you against your bedroom door. Your choice."

"Quinn, calm down. I'm not rejecting your proposition. I'm merely saying that it's different from what we usually do, but it's a good kind of different." She takes a deep breath and reaches for Quinn's hand, fully prepared to lose a finger, at least. "I like spending time with you, regardless of what we do. I would love to watch a movie with you as we eat takeout; I would also love you to fuck me so hard that I'll feel you for a week. It's up to you."

Quinn chuckles weakly, cheeks still flushed. She can't meet Rachel's eyes, but she does let Rachel hold her hand. "Okay," she says. "Movie?"

Rachel beams at her. "You've come to the right place for a night in, Rachel Berry style. My college roommates swore by my super-secret color-coded takeout Bible of delicious awesomeness; comprehensively ranked according to proximity, tastiness, price, and cuisine."

"God, I hope that isn't its actual name."

"No, but that's what people usually say afterwards." She snags the large binder from under the coffee table and hands it to Quinn. "Why don't you have a look and see what takes your fancy, while I set up the DVD player?" Rachel glances at the DVD case and nearly falls over. " _Westside Story_?"

"We don't have to watch that," says Quinn, sounding defensive.

"Quinn, surely you're joking. You _are_ talking to Rachel Berry, ex-Broadway starlet; I would sooner give my Nationals champions trophy to you than to pass up a musical, especially a classic of this caliber."

"Throwing the competition? Shocking."

Rachel reaches for a cushion from the couch and lobs it at Quinn. "Hurry up and order us food, Fabray, I'm starving."

* * *

Much later, Rachel gets a shock when Quinn jerks upright beside her. "Shit, it's so late."

"Whuh," says Rachel drowsily. She doesn't even remember what happened after _Westside Story_ ; she vaguely remembers another movie, but it's definitely not the one whose title screen is currently looping on the TV screen. "God, did we fall asleep?" She stretches.

"Yeah. Probably." Quinn is already standing up, looking around for her things.

Rachel yawns, squinting at her phone. "You can just stay the night," she suggests softly. "The New York hotel package deal comes with breakfast tomorrow. It's not like you haven't stayed over before…"

Quinn makes a soft sound. "I don't want to put you out."

"Put me out? Quinn, you're hardly eating me out of house and home. And you know I'm always happy to have you around." She rests a hand on Quinn's arm. "Stay. I have a guest room, or you can… share my bed."

"Because it's not like I haven't shared your bed before?"

Rachel laughs. "Now you're getting it. We don't have to do anything you don't want."

Illuminated by the television, she can see Quinn thinking. "All right," says Quinn at last. "I'll share your bed, but keep your hands to yourself, Berry."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Pot, kettle," she mutters under her breath.

* * *

It's difficult to keep secrets from Kurt, especially secrets of a personal nature. He's one of her closest friends, and also the only one privy to her crush on Quinn. Rachel has managed to fend him off successfully so far. But as the season wears on, and the Bobcats' troubles compound, it gets harder to explain her continued state of bliss. Especially when Rachel has had to switch three of her cheerleaders off-mat because of injuries.

After a long day spent on the mat, Kurt corners her in her office. "Something happened between you and Quinn, didn't it?"

Rachel sighs. She should've known better than to hide anything from Kurt. "We've been sleeping together."

"Since when?"

"... Remember the time I went to Lima to talk to Sam's Glee kids before their Nationals?"

Kurt gasps. "That… so long ago?"

"Yeah."

She's expecting him to scold her for letting her personal affairs compromise her professionalism. She isn't expecting him to frown and say: "Rachel, are you sure?"

"Kurt, I know our conduct isn't exactly the most professional, but I assure you it hasn't affected my focus on our kids."

"I know that, but I meant with Quinn. What if this is a plot on her side to try and distract you from focusing on the Bobcats?"

It's absurd; absurd enough that Rachel finds herself giving it some thought. "I – she's in this as well, wouldn't she be compromising her own Cheerios?"

"Put it this way, Rachel; you just told me you're sleeping with Quinn, not in a relationship with Quinn. I know you, and therefore I think that says a lot about how much she's putting into whatever arrangement you have." Kurt sighs. "Rachel. You put your heart and soul into everything. I just don't want you to get burned by Quinn. She has a reputation for being ruthless and doing anything to get her Cheerios ahead."

She thinks back on her history of failed relationships, and sighs. "I appreciate you telling me that, Kurt."

He pulls up a chair, settles in comfortably. "These fuck buddy arrangements rarely end well; trust me when I say this."

She puts both arms on the table, loosely clutching her elbows. "I can take care of myself."

"You can, but will you?" Kurt scrutinizes her carefully. "I know Quinn can take care of herself. I know you can take care of yourself. But if real feelings get involved… it'll be a mess, professionally and personally. People are gonna get hurt, and I'm not betting on it being Quinn."

Rachel nods tightly. She knows all this, of course; but she's also been pushing it to the back of her mind whenever she's with Quinn.

"You're not the type of person to settle, Rachel, and you never have been." He stands up, leaning across the desk to squeeze her arm. "Think about it, okay? I'm not judging or anything; I'm being here for you."

She nods weakly. He's speaking as her friend, not her colleague, and Rachel knows she can count on his support.

* * *

Despite Kurt's well-founded concerns, there are times when Quinn just wants her body, and Rachel is powerless to resist her.

Like now.

She needs to talk to Quinn about them. She _has_ tried, but each time Quinn's rebuffed her, or distracted her. They really don't have much time with each other, and they were both more interested in getting each other off.

"I have to be back in twenty minutes, so I – "

"Quinn, what are we doing?"

Quinn frowns. "Each other."

"That's not what I meant."

Quinn pulls her hands out of Rachel's clothes and crosses her arms across her chest. "We've discussed this before. You said you didn't have a problem with what we're doing, Rachel."

"That was before I wanted something more out of this, Quinn, and before we started seeing each other regularly," replies Rachel. She folds her arms over her chest as well so she – or Quinn – wouldn't be tempted into anything else. "You feel it too, right? We have a real connection that can be so much more if we'd only give it a chance."

"No. Look – can we drop it?" Quinn sighs. "If we're not gonna do anything, I should get back."

"We _are_ doing something. We're talking about what we are." Rachel pauses. "You asked me to be patient with you."

"This isn't anything," whispers Quinn harshly. "This can't be anything, Berry."

"You call me Berry when you want to keep me at arm's length. Emotionally, that is. Are you saying you don't feel anything for me at all besides your own sexual gratification?"

"I'm not saying that," snaps Quinn.

"But you're not saying otherwise, either." She is patience personified, in direct opposition to the barely-controlled rage swirling in Quinn's eyes. "I'm just asking a question, Quinn. If we're _nothing_ , then I'd appreciate it if you'd look me in the eye when you say it."

Rachel isn't expecting Quinn's rage to evaporate, her shoulders slumping, falling in on herself like she is suddenly empty. "I… I don't know what you want me to say."

"I want you to be honest with me. I think you owe me that much, at least."

Quinn lifts her head. Her eyes look bleak. "Berry, you live in New York. You have an entire Broadway career to fall back on in case cheerleading doesn't cut it." She gestured at herself. "I can't go anywhere else."

"What are you saying?" Rachel's eyes fall on Quinn's hand; she wants to hold it as she tells Quinn that everything will be okay. "You're brilliant. You can be anything you want. You graduated _magna cum laude_ from OSU, for goodness' sake."

"Yeah, and that means I have so many jobs available to me," she says sarcastically. "You don't understand what my life is like."

"Then make me understand." Rachel's lower lip juts out in her stubbornness. Her fathers have always said that that was simultaneously her worst and best quality, and it would land her in trouble one day.

Rachel hopes fervently that today isn't that day.

"I'm not like you, alright? I can't risk everything. There's nowhere for me to go." Quinn lifts her chin, expression challenging. "I'm sorry, Rachel. I wish things could be different, I really do." And she ducks outside before Rachel can say anything.

* * *

The All Star National Meeting is an event neither woman is very invested in; but Rachel has students who are members of All Star teams, and so she's been invited.

Rachel didn't know Quinn was here too, until the man she's talking to (she forgot his name within five minutes, but she remembers him being a representative from some cheer uniform maker) beckons a very familiar person over.

"And I assume you know Quinn Fabray?"

"We've met," says Rachel, smiling. She shakes Quinn's hand politely. "Perks of the job."

"We're arch-enemies," clarifies Quinn dryly, which makes Rachel laugh.

When the man's attention is elsewhere, Quinn leans in and whispers: "Meet me at the elevators in five", then sips her drink as though nothing has happened.

She's having difficulty breathing. Rachel focuses on her drink; out of the corner of her eye, she watches Quinn make small talk with the sales rep before leaving – adding a last look over her shoulder in Rachel's direction.

Rachel swallows hard.

Kurt's warning echoes in the back of her head. She knows whatever they have isn't healthy for both of them; she's always been the relationship type, and Quinn… isn't. The deeper she lets herself fall, the longer this goes on, Rachel's just setting herself up for heartbreak. Not to mention they parted on less than ideal terms the last time. She doesn't know what Quinn is playing at.

But all of this fades away when she sees Quinn nonchalantly pretending not to be waiting for her in the lobby.

"Yours or mine?"

"Yours," says Quinn. She follows Rachel into the elevator.

Within ten minutes, they're kissing furiously inside Rachel's hotel room. Quinn's shirt is halfway up her torso, and Rachel's jeans are undone.

"We don't have much time, Quinn," pants Rachel, pushing at Quinn's shoulders. "I have a panel in forty-five minutes."

Quinn snarls. "Do you want this or not, Berry? I could stop. It's your call."

Rachel whimpers. "No, don't stop." Her hips roll into Quinn's hand.

Quinn smiles, slow and predatory. "I'll be quick," she says, and thrusts her hand into Rachel's slick panties. She covers Rachel's mouth with her own, muffling the sounds Rachel makes as her fingers rub at Rachel's clit.

Rachel, unable to withstand the assault on her senses, works her hands up Quinn's shirt and bra. She gives the hard nipple a pinch, earning herself a gasp.

Quinn makes this little growl, deep in the back of her throat, and she redoubles her efforts. Rachel closes her eyes, head falling backward, hips thrusting into Quinn's hand.

She comes hard, so hard she is unsure of how much time has passed. Quinn is already smoothing out her clothes and fixing her hair, a faintly amused smile on her face, when she is fully cognizant of her surroundings.

Rachel scowls. "I didn't get to touch you," she says.

"We don't have the time," replies Quinn brusquely.

Deep down, Rachel knows she's right. But Quinn is like a fine whiskey, intoxicating and addictive, going straight to Rachel's head and flooding her senses. It's almost impossible to retain a clear mind when she's with Quinn. "Maybe we can meet again soon," says Rachel finally, not even bothering to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

But Quinn doesn't have the time to indulge her. She's already slipping out the door with a quick "bye, Berry", and is gone, leaving Rachel alone to freshen up.

"You're an idiot," says Rachel to empty air. She's unsure if she was addressing Quinn, or herself.

* * *

Rachel isn't looking forward to the second day of the meeting. She has a full day of leadership classes and panels booked, and she really doesn't want any interruptions. Rachel is incapable of saying no to Quinn.

But Quinn doesn't show until after lunch, and when she does, she looks rattled. It's not a good look on her; she looks like a wolf that's seen a tiger.

"Quinn, is something wrong?"

"I was seen," she says jerkily, and Rachel's stomach clenches. "One of the trustees saw me coming out of your room, and – well. I would say they jumped to conclusions, except we both _fucking_ know that whatever wild explanation they could come up with would be true."

"Are you in trouble?" It's Rachel's next thought; even though she doesn't know OSU's policies, she's willing to bet they wouldn't have the same views of homosexuality as NYU.

Quinn shakes her head, pacing a little. Nervous energy appears to vibrate under her skin. "Yes. No. I don't know. They haven't said anything to me, yet, but it's only a matter of time…"

"They can't prove anything," says Rachel. "Homosexuality isn't criminalized anymore; they can't _fire_ you for being with a woman. My dads have some contacts with the ACLU, I can ask them to give me the numbers of some reliable legal representation." She's already swelling with indignation on Quinn's behalf.

"Calm down, Berry. They're not gonna do anything _to_ me; at worst, I'll be asked to resign, no questions asked. At best, nothing's gonna happen. I've won them championship trophies, they can't afford to fire me." Despite her words, she blows out a frustrated breath, crossing and recrossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh. Alright. Is there anything I can do?"

Quinn lets out a harsh laugh. "There's nothing you _can_ do except stay away from me. I think they'd be more concerned about the whole rival team thing since we're a few months away from Regionals rather than the whole _lesbian_ thing." Quinn pronounces the word like it's something dirty; Rachel feels a pang of discomfort.

"Right. Yes. You're right."

But Quinn is already walking away. Rachel feels a pang of regret as she watches her go.

* * *

She doesn't hear from Quinn in nearly a month, and so Rachel spends the entire time thinking.

It feels strange, adjusting back to life before Quinn. And strangely enough, it's not the sex she misses most of all:

It's the hours they've spent watching movies together, and talking about each other. It's bringing Quinn to restaurants she loves, and watching her face light up when she enjoys the food. It's the wicked sense of humor Quinn has, and the hidden soft side of her that nobody but her gets to see.

Rachel doesn't know what she's doing. She hasn't felt this lost since she woke up alone in her apartment years ago and felt an incredible yearning for something, _anything_ , to fill the void in her life.

The problem is: this time, she knows exactly what – or _who_ – she wants.

* * *

She's coming off a high in which Spencer and Roderick manage to pull off a complicated routine she had thought was too difficult for them, and she's thinking _finally we have a real shot at winning Nationals this year._ Rachel, humming to herself, heads out of the gym, already engrossed with her phone to call an Uber –

"Rachel?"

"Fuck," she hisses, diving into her purse for her pepper spray and taser attachment (a Hanukkah gift from her overprotective fathers). "Don't come any closer!"

"Damnit, it's me!"

And indeed it's Quinn Fabray, hands held up protectively in front of her face.

"Oh." Rachel lowers her pepper spray. "Quinn, don't sneak up on me like that! I could have grievously injured you!"

"I wasn't sneaking up on you! Why do you even have a taser _and_ pepper spray anyway?!"

"I'm a petite, fairly attractive young woman in New York, and I often work late hours." She tucks her weapons back into her purse. "As a former Broadway actress, I have had my fair share of over-zealous admirers."

"Duly noted."

She notices Quinn is acting generally uncomfortable, not meeting her eyes; then it hits her that Quinn's _here_ , after walking out on her, after a whole month of radio silence. After telling her to stay away.

Rachel presses her lips into a thin line. "... What are you doing here?"

"I thought… Rachel, can we talk?"

Rachel studies Quinn carefully. She's just as beautiful as always, but there is something new about her. It takes Rachel a while to realize what it is: an air of sadness that she wears like a cloak. This Quinn doesn't carry that air of Quinn Fabray-esque confidence that Rachel used to associate with her.

Is it possible – that Quinn may have been as miserable without her, as she was without Quinn?

"Alright," she hears herself say, "we'll talk at my place."

* * *

The ride to Rachel's apartment is silent. Quinn's attention is pointedly on something outside the window, while Rachel's attention is torn between Quinn and her own insecurities.

Quinn came back of her own accord. _That has to mean something_ , Rachel thinks. Because it would have been so easy for Quinn to avoid Rachel. Quinn came back, and she actually wants to talk.

A little voice in the back of her mind (that sounds a lot like Kurt) says: _Maybe she just wants your body. You're giving her everything, no strings attached, and no sane woman would pass that up. Other people have to pay for prostitutes, you know._

"Berry?"

She blinks. They're parked outside her building, and Quinn is peering at her curiously.

"Sorry." Rachel climbs out of the car, fishing her keycard out of her purse. She scans them in and leads the way into the building and up to her apartment. They don't speak the entire time; Rachel's decided to wait for Quinn to start the conversation. While Quinn seats herself at the kitchen table, Rachel makes tea for them both, setting a steaming mug in front of Quinn wordlessly before she takes the seat opposite Quinn.

But instead of speaking, Quinn immediately wraps her hands around the mug and stares into the hot liquid as though it holds the secrets of the universe.

Rachel gives in. "You said you wanted to talk," she prompts.

"I… was hoping we could see each other again. For things between us to go back to normal."

Rachel purses her lips. "Which normal? The normal when you were slinging insults at me, or the normal in which I was your fuck buddy?"

Quinn winces. "Okay, I guess I deserved that."

"Quinn, you told me to stay away from you, and you stopped speaking to me for an entire month. Isn't there anything else you want to say before you ask to resume our casual sex encounters?"

"I…"

"You know what?" Forget I said anything." Rachel looks away, disappointed. She wills herself not to cry. "I deserve better than being your fuck buddy, Quinn. You deserve more than having to hide who you are. It's not fair to either of us."

"Rachel… I'm sorry."

This gets her attention like nothing else has, so Rachel nods slightly and leans forward, her full attention trained on Quinn. "What are you sorry for?"

"I shouldn't have reacted like that. I lashed out at you because I was scared."

She accepts the apology reluctantly. It's not ideal, but she has a feeling that's the best she'll get out of Quinn. "If something like this happens again, are we gonna go through this entire process?"

She draws a shaky breath. "I'm not very good at any of this."

"Being a decent human being?"

Quinn doesn't even wince. "Treating you like you deserve to be treated."

Rachel looks down at her mug, biting her lower lip hard to keep her emotions under control. "Okay, then."

"Rachel, don't do this."

"Do what? I haven't done anything at all, as you very well know. All I've done is let you dictate every part of this arrangement. You don't want a relationship; fine. You want me around when you want a warm body in your bed; I can live with that. But I'm drawing the line here, Quinn Fabray. I'm not just a sex toy for you." Her voice trembles a little, but it holds steady. "I have _feelings_."

"Just give me some time."

"I've already given you time."

"I'm _scared_ , okay? Is that what you wanna hear?"

"What are you so scared of?" Rachel asks.

"Everything! I don't know how to do any of this!" Quinn's fists clench and unclench. "I used to dream of getting out of Ohio. Going some place where no one knows my name, and no one makes judgements based on who my parents are or what they've heard about me. Making it on my own."

Rachel frowns. She hadn't been expecting the conversation to go down this route. "What's stopping you from doing that? You're so, so talented, Quinn. You could have anything you wanted if you set your mind to it; you just need to reach out and take it."

Quinn shakes her head. "I can't."

"Can't? Or won't?"

"Rachel, it doesn't matter, okay? It's just a silly dream. I can't leave because I belong in Columbus, doing what I'm good at."

"You could be doing much more than that," says Rachel quietly. "You could be more than just _good_ , Quinn. You could be the best."

Something flickers into life, deep in Quinn's eyes; then it's gone again, before Rachel can say anything.

"You know… my father didn't believe that a woman could be anything more than a wife and mother. He wanted me to marry a nice Christian man, settle down, have a family."

"Then my life changed when I got pregnant at sixteen. I told him, and suddenly I didn't have a family anymore." She turns hard eyes on Rachel. "Do you know what that's like? Losing everything because you make _one_ mistake?"

"No," says Rachel quietly.

The answer seems to calm Quinn down. "Nobody ever does," she says reflectively. "I was on my own for a bit. Moved in with my baby's father, gave our baby up for adoption. Eventually my mom took me back in, after she'd thrown my dad out. But I never really trusted her again after that."

"My dad refused to pay for college," continues Quinn. "I had to rely on cheerleading to earn my college scholarship. It taught me a lot about people." Her mouth settles in a straight line. "That I couldn't trust anyone but myself."

Rachel disagrees – _you have_ me, she thinks – but she doesn't dare interrupt. She's already busy schooling her face into an appropriate reaction, since she's not supposed to have known any of this beforehand. "I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

She leans forward. "If you had unlimited funds, no obligations, no nothing, what would you be doing? Where would you be?"

Rachel sees the small spark in Quinn's eyes flare back into life; this time, it doesn't fade away. "Anywhere but Ohio," she says quietly. "Teaching. Writing. Some combination of those. I don't care."

"Because you've always loved books," says Rachel, and gives Quinn a small smile. "That sounds wonderful."

"Doesn't matter. That's not happening," replies Quinn, tone closed-off.

Rachel decides that she's not going to go anywhere with pressing Quinn like this; this is the first time she's opened up to her, and further prodding might cause Quinn to clam up for good.

Instead, she decides to do some sharing of her own.

"Quinn… there's something I should've told you in the beginning."

From what (little) she knows of Quinn so far, she's expecting some annoyance. Maybe some dramatics. Rachel doesn't expect Quinn to stiffen, eyes going wide. "You've been lying to me?"

She hates the anger she sees in Quinn's eyes, but most of all she hates that there's equal amounts of betrayal and sadness there. And now she knows why. "No! I've never lied to you about anything, Quinn, I would _never_ lie to you. I simply… may have been economical with the truth." Rachel sighs. "I wasn't entirely forthcoming about my reasons for leaving Broadway."

Quinn looks tense, but she doesn't lash out, neither does she storm out. Rachel takes that as her cue to continue.

"My lack of fulfilment was a major reason, yes, but more than that, I was hitting a rut in my life." She purses her lips. "I suppose it all started when I woke up one day, single and alone, living in a Manhattan penthouse with just my cat. I'd been single for four years, and hadn't had a date in two. All I did was sing onstage about being happy and in love when my real life was anything but."

Quinn watches her, expression stony.

"Broadway had been my dream ever since I was old enough to know what it was. I'd sacrificed so much to achieve it, but it didn't mean anything in the end. It was hollow." Rachel smiles faintly. "I learned a very important lesson: that success means nothing without someone to celebrate it with."

Quinn leans back in her chair, her eyes coldly appraising. "Are you seriously telling me that you quit Broadway because you didn't have anyone to clap for you?"

Rachel's mouth twists. "That's… Quinn, that is possibly the most awful thing I have heard you say about me. But essentially, yes."

Her acknowledgement seems to shock Quinn more than the rebuke; her expression quickly shifts into guilt. "I'm sorry," says Quinn. "That was needlessly cruel of me."

Rachel nods, easily accepting her apology. "I used to fool myself into thinking that everyone around me was just jealous of my talent, and if they couldn't be happy for me, they didn't deserve to be in my life. And it went on like that until I was alone, and then I couldn't run away from the facts anymore." She shrugs. "I faced reality, and it wasn't pleasant; my dream wasn't a dream anymore. That's how I knew it was time I quit."

"Rachel, no."

She blinks, surprised.

"You're right; if they can't be happy for you, they don't deserve you," says Quinn. "You're amazing, and anyone who can't be genuinely supportive of that – who has to be so damn insecure about themselves that they'd pull you down – you were right to cut them out of your life."

Rachel doesn't say anything. It's not the first time she's heard this sentiment, but her fathers don't count; she's certain that it's part of their fatherly contractual obligations.

Besides, when Quinn says it with that much passion, she has to believe her.

She shrugs. "I'm a lot happier now, really. I'm helping people, I'm making an actual difference. I don't miss my old life."

Quinn gives her this quick smile, as though she's humoring Rachel. "I hope you return to the stage someday, Rachel. You're very talented. When I watched you perform, I was moved."

"Maybe someday," she says noncommittally. She doesn't know why the thought of Quinn humoring her fills her with such unease. Surely, Quinn can't know her better than Rachel knows herself, given that they hardly ever talk.

More importantly, now that Quinn knows the real reason she left Broadway and still wants her to return implies that – Rachel shakes her head to clear it of her traitorous thoughts. She's learned Quinn blows hot and cold (but mostly cold), and it doesn't do her any good to be entertaining thoughts like those.

Quinn's response is to give a bitter laugh, and turn her attention back to her tea – which, Rachel realizes, she has yet to drink. "We're quite a pair, aren't we? You with your inability to find someone who deserves you, me with my emotional retardation."

"I wouldn't go so far as to call you emotionally retarded, Quinn. You are a wonderful person; anyone would be able to see that once they've taken the time to get to know you."

The other woman shakes her head slowly. "Why do you do that?"

"I don't _do_ anything. We've already established that." When Quinn doesn't react with hostility, Rachel adds: "I genuinely like you as a person, therefore I want to spend time with you." She blushes. "As friends, and more."

Quinn seems to absorb the information, nodding at Rachel.

* * *

To Rachel, the dynamics of the not-relationship they have seems to have shifted after their talk. There is a new tentativeness in the way Quinn treats her, like she is something fragile. Like her feelings are important.

And yet, the feeling of discontentment in Rachel's stomach only worsens. She wants more than this; she wants _Quinn_ , and not in any capacity as she used to insist she was content with. But she knows that if she tells Quinn, she'll lose her. She's already seen Quinn bolt when faced with a setback; Rachel knows she'll never see Quinn again if she makes a misstep.

It's maddening.

* * *

Until one night after she'd finished a gruelling workshop and Quinn was visiting from Columbus for the night, when they were tangled up and satiated. Quinn stretches, giving Rachel that lazy smile that makes her heart flutter. Rachel opens her mouth to ask her if she's hungry and "I love you," tumbles out instead.

She could feel Quinn's body stiffening beside her. "Quinn?"

"Did you mean that, Rachel?"

"I didn't mean to tell you," mutters Rachel.

"Did you _mean_ it?"

Rachel wavers. Everything rides on this answer. She could easily go back to their not-relationship, or she could push Quinn away for good. She's seen plenty of relationships crash and burn because she wanted too much, but wanting Quinn isn't too much, is it?

"... Yes."

"What?"

Rachel looks Quinn in the eye. "I do mean it. I love you."

Quinn stares at her in slack-jawed disbelief. She climbs out of bed, snatching up clothes and redressing in sharp, jerky movements. "I have to go," she says, fumbling around for her things.

"Quinn, please." Rachel knows better than to approach her when she's in this state; Quinn's like a hurricane, lashing out at whatever gets in her way without meaning to.

But at the same time, Rachel feels oddly relieved, like a weight's been lifted from her shoulders. She has always worn her heart on her sleeve; Rachel didn't know how much keeping her feelings for Quinn hidden has eaten away with her until now, when her secret's out.

She doesn't regret what she did.

So, she won't apologize. Rachel grits her teeth, gets up, throws on some clothes, and goes to block the door when Quinn tries to leave.

"Move aside, Rachel, please."

"Not until we've talked about this."

Quinn shakes her head, her grip on her bag tightening. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Quinn, I've just told you that I love you. That's plenty to talk about."

"We've talked plenty in the past. Or were you not listening? About my problems, my emotional baggage…" Quinn throws up her hands. "I'm not someone people love."

"I firmly disagree." Rachel folds her arms across her chest. "I've listened to everything you've shared with me about your life, and it hasn't changed the way I feel about you. It doesn't change the fact that I think that you're beautiful, incredibly strong, resilient, and a wonderful person just as deserving of love as everyone else."

"You can't love me, Rachel."

"Too bad," she snaps back. "I regret to inform you that regardless of your personal opinion of my feelings, I've already fallen for you."

The silence that greets her words is unnerving. Quinn steps back, looking as though she's been slapped. Rachel lifts her chin defiantly, hoping Quinn doesn't see her trembling. "I love you, Quinn Fabray," says Rachel softly. "It really is as simple as that."

"What do you want from me? I can't give you a relationship, Rachel; you know that."

Her stomach plummets. Rachel fights back the tears that prick at her eyes. "... I know. I know that very well indeed."

"... I'm sorry."

She angrily swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. " _You_ don't get to be sorry, Quinn. You're the one not giving yourself a chance – not giving _us_ a chance."

"A chance? At what? At letting everything go up in flames? I don't want to hurt you. Is that too much to want?" Quinn scowls. "This isn't a musical, Rachel. You can't magically change me with your love. It doesn't work that way."

"Giving up on yourself is already hurting me!" Rachel isn't sad anymore; she's angry, and she's hurt. "All this while, you've been telling me that you don't think you're special and lovable. That's _bullshit_ , Quinn. Everything you've shared with me has made you stronger, not broken or – or undeserving of happiness. I'm not trying to fix you or save you. That would be an insult to us both. All I want is you to know that you aren't _broken_."

Quinn's face twists in anger. "I'm a realist, Rachel. It doesn't make sense to try and save something that's doomed from the start. I don't understand why you can't see that I'm doing this because I – " She doesn't finish her sentence, turning her gaze on the floor.

"– Because you _what_ , Quinn?"

"I shouldn't love you."

And she really should have been expecting _this_ , because Quinn Fabray loses her capacity for self-censoring when she's angry or driven into a corner. Except that Rachel had been expecting to have to argue with Quinn to maybe consider developing feelings back.

Not to have her feelings reciprocated, although she could do without the grudging resentment.

"You love me?"

Quinn colors.

"Answer me."

"Why are you making this so hard?"

Rachel stares at her incredulously. "I'm not making this _hard_. I'm just asking for a simple yes or no."

Quinn stares at her, eyes hard and determined. "Okay, _fine_. I love you. Happy now?"

"Why was that so difficult to say?" She's not angry anymore; it's hard to be, after finding out that Quinn Fabray loves _her_. "I care about you so much, and you have no idea how happy you've just made me."

"It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean that we're in a relationship, because we can't, so why bother?"

Rachel frowns. "What do you mean?"

"It would've been a lot easier if you thought it was one-sided. Then you could eventually forget about me and move on." Quinn presses her lips together into a thin line. "I'm not a good person, Rachel. I'm not ready to be with anyone, especially not someone like you." She sits down on the floor, back against the door. Rachel copies her.

Frankly, Quinn's logic is astounding: it was okay for Quinn to sleep with her, to spend time with her, but not okay to be _with_ her. Rachel feels very, very tired. "Okay."

Quinn stares. "You're taking this rather well."

"I believe in talking and being honest about our feelings. This is a lot more productive than screaming and shutting people out, don't you think?" Rachel tips her head backward to rest against the door. "Besides, I'll freely admit that knowing you love me back is doing wonders for my emotional state, despite the mostly negative implications of everything else you've said."

"Oh."

"If you don't want to be with me, Quinn, then I'm assuming that this is it?" She tries to smile. "Because, as you said, there's no sense in pursuing something that's doomed from the start, mutual feelings notwithstanding. And since looking at you hurts me, I'm guessing looking at me has the same effect on you."

"Rachel…"

She wasn't even bothering to hide her tears now. "Just go, Quinn. I won't think any worse of you. I don't think I can; believe me, I've tried multiple times over the past few months when convincing myself not to develop feelings for you."

"You're… the door…"

"Oh. Right. I apologize." She scoots until she's no longer blocking it, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her forehead there.

It's not until she hears the soft click of her front door opening and closing that Rachel finally allows herself to mourn.

* * *

Kurt takes one look at her the next morning and he knows. "Oh, sweetie."

She clears her throat. "Can we not talk about this now, please?" Rachel desperately wanted to take the day off, but her kids needed her, and Nationals didn't care about personal crises. She was no hypocrite; if her teenagers could put aside their tumultuous personal lives to focus on cheer, so could she.

"Of course. Have you had coffee? I can get us some. Your usual is a soy chai latte, right?"

Even the mention of that drink reminded her of that first coffee meeting with Quinn, the tentative peace brokered by Sam. Rachel nods. "Yes. Thanks, Kurt."

He squeezes her arm briefly before disappearing out of the gym doors. Rachel claps her hands, waiting for the team to settle down for the briefing.

"Alright, guys. Remind me again, how many weeks before Nationals?"

"Nine," says Spencer.

"What do we want?"

"Zero-hit!" They chorus.

"Damn straight." Rachel chuckles at the ripple of laughter that passes through the cheerleaders. "I know you can do it. I've seen all of you grow so much. This is gonna be our year, guys. I know those of you who were with me last year were gutted when we didn't win, but we're gonna take that fire and channel it into everything this year." She points at the blank space on the gym wall. "Visualize it, guys. Get used to seeing the 2022 Nationals champs' banner there, because it's gonna be reality in nine weeks."

She's greeted by excited cheers and whoops. Rachel grins.

"Bring it in!"

She watches her kids interact, her heart swelling. Marley, now a graduating senior, walks her replacement, a terrified freshman named Madison, through warm-up stretches. Jake and Ryder, their rivalry seemingly gone, are making sure everyone's got their protective equipment on. Unique is spotting another freshman as she tries to do a front handspring. Spencer and Roderick are exchanging a complicated handshake.

Rachel knows her seniors are hungry for that last glorious victory before graduation. She knows last year's defeat still rankles. She also knows that the juniors, sophomores, and freshmen are desperate not to let their seniors down.

It's times like these that reminds her why she's doing this.

* * *

Kurt manages to restrain himself throughout the training session, though after she dismisses the kids, he practically frogmarches her to her office.

"Are you alright?"

Rachel thinks about it. "No."

"I'm sorry." The unspoken _I told you so_ lingers in the air; Rachel waves a hand as though as she can brush it away.

"Thanks."

"Do you want to go out for drinks tonight? My treat. Or we could talk about it."

Rachel smiles at him. He's being incredibly supportive for someone who had predicted doom and gloom for her and Quinn right from the beginning. She knows Kurt, and thus she knows how much he's stopping himself from prying. "I don't think I want to talk about it yet."

He nods. "Fair enough."

"Thanks, Kurt."

"Hey. Here for you, alright? No judgment."

* * *

It was amazing how different her life felt without Quinn.

She did everything like before: coaching, even some singing, but unlike before, it no longer gave her the same fulfilment. As much as Rachel doesn't want to admit it, she misses Quinn, and she's actually looking forward to seeing Quinn at Nationals. Perhaps from afar, since she's certain Quinn wouldn't want to be near her, and Rachel doesn't want to trigger another inconvenient bout of feelings.

For goodness' sake, she and Finn had been on-and-off for a year or so because neither of them could say no to the other. Rachel hopes she's grown past that.

"Looks like this is it."

Rachel turns to see Marley and Unique, already dressed for their routine. "Hey, you two," she says, "you look great."

"Thanks, Rachel." Marley picks at her pleated skirt. "I can't believe this is the last time I'll be wearing this."

"Time flies."

Unique hugs her tightly. "We're gonna miss you."

"Ditto, ladies." Rachel hugs them both. "No crying," she warns despite her own reddening eyes, "you'll set me off, and you'll have to redo your makeup. Now get backstage, you guys are going on soon."

They nod and disappear, just as the Cheerios bounce onstage, whooping. Rachel looks around for the red Cheerio jacket in the front. But the blonde woman in Cheerio red looking back at her isn't Quinn.

"You're not Quinn," she blurts out.

The woman turns around and sniffs. "I should hope not. Fabray made sloppy babies out of my Cheerios, and I should know; they've recorded an average 0.36% loss of muscle mass during Q's reign of terror."

"What?" She changes her mind, deciding there's too much in that statement to unpack. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me. I don't think we've met. I'm –"

"– Sue Sylvester," the other woman interrupts. "Head coach of the Cheerios. Fabray was interim coach while I ran for state governor and taught espionage masterclasses for Mossad." She squints at Rachel. "And _you_ must be Rita, coach of the Stevecats."

"Bobcats."

"Q warned me to keep an eye out for pushy Polly Pockets," Sue says as though Rachel hasn't spoken.

"And my name is Rachel."

"Gesundheit."

"What happened to Quinn?"

"Beats me, Raquel. I had big life plans, see, so when Q comes in reminding me of a young Sue Sylvester, I recommend the idiot administration hire her to replace me while I commence the next stage of my global takeover. One moment, Q was doing a passable job of substituting for the Sylvester experience; the next thing I know, the administration calls me back because she ups and quits without a by-your-leave, or even without the appropriate blood reparations for breach of contract. You know, the usual."

"Do you know what happened?"

"Sue Sylvester does not waste valuable brain cells on that sort of information, Ramona. The spineless amoeba that calls himself college administration said something about Q pursuing her dreams or something as inconsequential as that. Rubbish. Once you're a Cheerio, dreams pursue _you_. Why, I remember this one time I was cornered in a bar in Moscow by a motley crew of dreams. I can see it now as though it was yesterday: my back against the wall with only a broken vodka bottle to defend myself with."

Rachel blinks. And wisely decides not to respond. "Did she say where she was going?"

"Were you not listening to a single word that came out of my mouth, Rebecca? Q quit, and she didn't leave a forwarding address for her emotional baggage."

"Oh." There is a strange sort of pleasure that she derives from hearing this which has nothing to do with this bizarre woman. Quinn, following her dreams. She's known all along that Quinn has so much potential, and there was so much she could accomplish if she'd had the courage to fulfil it.

And if Quinn's dreams didn't include Rachel?

She could deal with it. Eventually.

* * *

Rachel stays at the beach after the awards ceremony is done. She watches waves lap on the sand.

"Rachel?"

At first, she suspects the voice to be a figment of her imagination. She's heard Quinn calling her name plenty of times in her dreams and her memories. But when the voice gets louder, she turns around.

"... Quinn?"

Quinn doesn't look very much different from the last time they saw each other. "Hi."

"Hi," replies Rachel automatically. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you. Why aren't you celebrating with your team?"

"I wanted a moment alone," says Rachel. "I have so many good memories of this place. This is where my kids come to celebrate their victory. This is where I met you. This is where I first realized that I had feelings for you." She drops her gaze to her hands. "You haven't answered my question. Why are _you_ here?"

"I'm here because you weren't with the Bobcats. I asked Kurt, and he said you should be here."

"You spoke to Kurt?"

Quinn smiles wryly. "Barely; he hates me on principle. I don't blame him for that."

Rachel exhales softly. "Neither do I. You've already walked out of my life twice. Are you here to do it a third time?"

"No." The smile falls off Quinn's face. "I'm here to apologize for everything."

"Okay." She's gotten good at saying that to Quinn.

Quinn flinches. "Rachel, I know the past few years have been a mess, and that's on me. I haven't been fair to you at all. And…" she breathes deeply, in and out, a few times. "... I'll understand if you never want to speak to me again after today."

Rachel doesn't answer.

"I wanted to say… you're right. I was so stupidly focused on protecting myself because I was scared of having feelings, I ended up hurting both of us. I'm sorry."

"That's not an excuse for the way you treated me."

"I know. God, I'm not trying to justify what I did. But that was something that's been on my mind since the day I left you." Quinn's voice pitches lower. "I've regretted walking out ever since."

Rachel presses her lips together and nods. "Apology accepted."

"Thank you."

"... Although, I think I should apologize too."

Quinn's eyes widen. "Rachel, you have nothing to apologize for…"

"I most certainly do, Quinn. I'm sorry I kept forcing us to talk about what we had. I knew you had issues, but that didn't stop me from trying to push before either of us were ready. I was forcing my feelings on you." It's Rachel's turn to give Quinn a wry smile. "I guess I was trying to compensate for every failed relationship I'd had, and it worked out just as you'd expect."

"Apology accepted," says Quinn, shaking her head. "You didn't force anything on me, Rachel; I wouldn't be here, right now, if you had."

Rachel nods. "Thank you," she parrots, and Quinn smiles at her.

Seeing Quinn again reminds Rachel that nothing has changed; she's still hopelessly in love with this woman. Even the memories of Quinn hurting her do nothing to deter Rachel.

"So… I quit the Cheerios."

"I heard," says Rachel, surprised by the change of subject. "I had the pleasure of meeting Sue Sylvester, by the way. She might be the most terrifying woman I've ever met, and I used to work with Crazy Cassandra July, the terror of Broadway and NYADA."

"Ah." Quinn makes a face. "My condolences."

Rachel chuckles. The dry quiet humor washes over her like the waves on the beach. Rachel holds her breath and tries not to let herself hope. God, she's missed Quinn so much.

Quinn sits down in the sand. Rachel is quick to join her. Quinn is silent for a long moment, before she says: "I've always admired your ambition. I've never been able to shake off my past and make it on my own… I think I resented you a little for that."

"But having you in my life… I've learned more about myself than ever before. That I'm brave and capable, and I could be everything. Someone important told me that."

A smile lifts Rachel's face. "Someone important, huh?"

Quinn nods. "I'm living in New York now; working towards my Masters in English at Columbia. I… I'll still be working with students, but I'll actually be doing something I love, rather than just something I'm good at."

"I'm so happy for you," Rachel offers, tentatively; afraid of what might come next.

Rachel isn't prepared for Quinn to turn to her, eyes steady, and say: "That's part of the reason I disappeared for a while. I was working on myself, making sure I was better, so that I was good enough for you."

"That's ridiculous. You've always been wonderful; you've never needed to be _good enough_ for anyone." She omits the _including me_ that she wants to add. "I think you just needed to see that for yourself."

She so desperately wants to ask Quinn to stay. To believe that everything she wanted could be possible now. But Rachel holds her tongue. It's not her place to ask; this is something that Quinn has to decide for herself.

"Rachel…"

"Yes, Quinn?"

Quinn turns to her, and Rachel is shocked to see how _nervous_ she looks. "I thought… I was wondering if you'd… if we could start over. Properly."

"... Are you sure?"

Quinn nods. The setting sun makes her eyes glow.

Hope flares, and Rachel feels brave enough to reach out and tuck a stray strand of hair behind Quinn's ear. "Okay."

Quinn clears her throat. "But before we start anything," she says nervously, "I think we should talk about us. Uh, like _really_ talk."

Rachel could kiss her for trying so hard. "Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Quinn Fabray?" she says, and Quinn blushes.

"I'm serious."

"I know. I really do appreciate that you're really making an effort. You have no idea how happy that makes me."

"I feel like I should be insulted," Quinn complains lightly.

Rachel shakes her head, smiling.

Quinn glances at her. "Close your eyes."

"... You're not gonna splash me, are you? It took me a while to dry off – "

Quinn cuts her off with a kiss. Rachel has enough good sense to kiss her back.

"I missed that," admits Quinn shyly when she pulls away.

"Same," replies Rachel breathlessly. "Can we do that again before we talk about the serious stuff?"

Quinn laughs and indulges her.

* * *

She returns to her hotel room on cloud 9, much to Kurt's amusement. "I see Quinn found you," he says.

Rachel just shakes her head. "I thought you were gonna chew me out. Quinn says you hate her."

"You're my friend. I'm obligated to hate her on principle. But it seems like you've kissed and made up…" He makes a disgusted face; Rachel laughs, too happy to take offense.

"We're gonna try, Kurt. For real this time."

"Well, in that case, I'm very happy for you." Kurt hugs her. "I foresee a lot of groveling in Quinn's future."

* * *

_**One year later** _

* * *

Rachel grunts as she fumbles for her keys. It's been a long week, and she had been looking forward to a quiet weekend with her girlfriend up until approximately two hours ago.

She sighs. The call had been unexpected, but not unwelcome; it's still something she wants to discuss with Quinn, however – Rachel pauses her train of thought when she notices a light from inside. "Quinn?" she calls.

"Kitchen!"

Rachel's mood improves instantly. "Hi," she says, kissing Quinn's cheek. "I didn't think you'd be home early."

"Me either." The kitchen table is covered with books and papers. Quinn makes space for Rachel to put her purse down. "The other TA was having a consultation in the shared office, and I still have unpacking to do, so I decided to leave early."

"Lucky me, then." Rachel clears her throat. "Hey, Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"Can we talk?"

Quinn stops glaring intensely at her laptop. "Yeah, of course. What's up?"

"So, I got a call from an old co-star today." She pauses to lick her lips. "We were in a couple of shows together back in the day, but he's decided to try his hand at directing." Another pause. "He wants me to star in his new show."

"... Oh."

Deep breath. "I turned him down," says Rachel.

Quinn stares. "What?"

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Rachel asks, laughing nervously.

"I thought you wanted to discuss taking the offer with me," says Quinn. "I wasn't expecting to hear that you'd already turned him down. I thought you love performing."

"I do." Rachel smiles. "I think I always will. Broadway used to be my dream, but dreams change." She reaches for Quinn's hand, tangling their fingers together. "I'm already happy, right now."

"Are you sure?"

"I am. Why do you ask?"

Quinn looks at her carefully. She absently traces patterns over Rachel's hand. "Honestly, I've always had the impression that you would return to Broadway someday."

"So did I," admits Rachel. "I thought my dream was to have it all; the perfect career and perfect life partner."

"This is the perfect opportunity." Quinn hesitates. "And you know I'd support whatever decision you made, right?"

"Of course I do," Rachel says. "I didn't turn Jesse down because of that. I turned him down because I'm already living my dream life." She pulls Quinn's hand closer, brushing her lips over Quinn's knuckles.

"You're absolutely sure you don't want to go back to the stage?"

Rachel ponders it briefly. "Maybe someday. But I'd be just as happy if I never did. Much to my surprise, I found out I don't need applause to live."

Quinn nods, seemingly accepting the answer.

Rachel knows the conversation isn't over. But for now, she understands that Quinn needs time to process – and so does she. "How much unpacking did you get done today?" Rachel asks, changing the subject.

"Most of it. Which reminds me… I have a surprise for you."

Rachel blinks. "A surprise? For me? I don't remember being _that_ good lately."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Sass me, Berry, and I might change my mind about the surprise."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Tell me, Ms Fabray."

"I found my old Cheerios uniform when I was unpacking my things." Quinn stands up, casual as you please.

Rachel is, for once in her life, speechless.

"I can still fit in it."

She's fairly certain she's forgotten how to breathe.

Quinn smiles, sugary-sweet, as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. "I've noticed how you stare at me when you think I'm not looking. I recall you mentioning something about admiring the cheerleaders in high school, so I'm pretty sure me in a cheerleading uniform would be something you'd enjoy. And perhaps, you might even care to return the favor."

Rachel swallows hard. "Quinn, I don't think I need to remind you that this is highly inappropriate given my current line of work…"

"So, _Miss Berry_ , I was having a little trouble with that back handspring," Quinn says, voice pitched a little higher than normal. "I'd love it if you could help me fix that."

" _Seriously,_ Quinn?" Rachel says, torn between horror, amusement, and arousal.

Quinn's fake embarrassment rapidly turns real. "Was that too much?"

Rachel chuckles. "No, it's just right." She looks at Quinn. "You're ridiculous, but I love you."

Quinn rolls her eyes. But she also shyly meets Rachel's gaze, and replies: "I love you, too."


End file.
